Kick Drum Hearts
by Neon Genesis
Summary: Sequel to 250 Dark Stars. "Everyone thinks of fairy tales in terms of poisoned apples and glass coffins, and forgets that they represent girls who walked into dark forests and remade them into their own reflections." Yukimura Sayoko and Tachibana An. Of love, and tennis, and walking into dark forests.
1. We Aren't Caught Up in Your Love Affair

Author's Note: Summary quotation - "Everyone thinks of fairy tales in terms of poisoned apples and glass coffins, and forgets that they represent girls who walked into dark forests and remade them into their own reflections" - by Seanan McGuire, in "Indexing."

* * *

**Kick Drum Hearts**

_(I'd rather run the other way_

_Than stay and see the smoke_

_And who's still standing when it clears)_

...

"So I gather," said Oshitari languidly, "that it must be true after all."

Atobe, having arrived for only the second half of morning practice, as was his custom, spared him only a perfunctory glance as he unlocked the door to the coach's office of the clubhouse. "Much as this may shock you, I'm one of the few not enchanted by your penchant for ambiguity, even when drawled in that oh-so-charming accent of yours. You'll have to elaborate."

"I stopped by the admissions office this morning to put in my work schedule for the week, and guess whose paperwork was waiting to be filed?"

Atobe stepped inside and set down his coffee on the enormous mahogany desk. "Were I possessed of a crude sense of humor, I'd say something along the lines of 'your mother.'"

"Yukimura Sayoko," Oshitari folded his arms, "whose transfer was expedited upon recommendation of student council president Atobe Keigo. So the rumors are true? About the two of you?"

"I didn't take you for one to listen to rumors."

"Hard not to hear them. What's going on here, Atobe? Because when that girl gets here today and people start to recognize her, the school will be in an uproar. What are you trying to pull, bringing her here?"

"She made the choice to come here, and merely requested my assistance," replied Atobe calmly, sipping his organic French roast. "I am, as you know, a benevolent soul. The consequences of her decision are her own concern, not mine."

Oshitari looked unconvinced, but Atobe paid him no mind. He hadn't expected to receive Sayoko's email, but neither had he been terribly surprised. Being in the same environment as her august brother had clearly been unhealthy for her, and Atobe had been happy to provide his support.

Yukimura Sayoko would be an interesting addition to Hyotei.

~x~

"Hi." The girl smiled. It should have been in a toothpaste commercial. "My name is Fujita Ishiko. And you're Yukimura Sayoko, aren't you? I recognize you from that exhibition match. You're really cute." She said it like a challenge.

Sayoko did not immediately reply. She'd heard vaguely that Hyotei's environment was highly politicized, entirely hierarchical, and had anticipated having to deal with a lot of new-girl-on-the-scene shit as the other students decided how to fit her into the pecking order.

She hadn't expected to be sized up and confronted before even stepping foot in the building.

Hyotei Academy was impressive by most people's standards: an enormous stone monument of a building, soaring and stretching like the Great Wall of China. It wasn't really to her taste, though: she preferred more grace in her architecture, more sensuality, secrets and shadows and stories. _Budapest, _she thought, with a moment's wistfulness. _I could have gone to school in Budapest._

She realized that Fujita had spoken again while she'd been lost in thought. "I'm sorry, what?"

The other girl's face made it clear she thought it a deliberate slight, and Sayoko didn't bother to dispel that notion. "I asked," she inspected her immaculate nails, "why you transferred here."

"For the warm welcome."

Fujita's fixed smile wavered before she began speaking again, but Sayoko neither heard nor cared what she said. She was clearly, judging by the way she held herself and her audacity in approaching Sayoko, high up in the social order. But Sayoko knew she could out-smile, out-barb, and out-charm the other girl. Could easily establish herself as being the more leonine of the two, could either crush Fujita as an enemy or turn her into a loyal follower.

_If this is the best Hyotei has to offer... I could run this school._

It was an instinctual thing, what she'd done her whole life: utilized what tools she had—good looks, intelligence, charisma—to not just protect herself but wage an offensive campaign, making people either too intimidated or too enamored to bother her. She'd done it at Rikkai. She'd done it in America.

Sometimes it felt like all she knew how to do.

She knew this back-and-forth, this game like the back of her hand, knew she could win it. She'd learned from her brother that winning was paramount: if you can win, you must win. Even if you can't win, you must win.

Losing was not permitted.

But— "It's been nice to meet you, Fujita-san." Having cut off the other girl mid-sentence, she turned and walked past her into the school building, fighting the urge to toss her hair over her shoulder. Students milling about outside had been discreetly watching the encounter, and now were outright staring at her.

And Sayoko realized… that she didn't really care. She hadn't come to Hyotei to become the most popular girl in school. Hadn't come to concern or exhaust herself with drama, with gossip, with anything that had plagued her before. Being socially elite hadn't made her happy in the past, so why would it now?

Was it still losing if you simply chose not to play?

Her brother would have thought so, but Sayoko… Sayoko wasn't so sure.

~x~

"_Transferred__? _To _Hyotei_?"

"I can't believe—"

"Yukimura-san must be _furious_—"

"—that Atobe Keigo, they have a thing—"

"But what about Niou-senpai—"

An tried very hard to disregard the things she overheard in the hallway and in the classsroom, but it was impossible, especially when her knowledge of the situation, as Yukimura Sayoko's Official Best Friend, was constantly solicited. Initially she made vague, breezy comments, but quickly grew so fed up with the relentless barrage of inquiries that she would just put a hand up, they way a celebrity would to the paparazzi.

"How do you think Yukimura-senpai's taking this?" she asked Kirihara during a break between classes.

He slid his narrow green gaze toward her. He was still keeping her at a distance after their falling-out, and she thought for a moment that he'd blow her off, but— "Death," Kirihara moaned, fisting his hands in his curls. "Imminent death is upon us."

"As well as conquest, war, and famine," added Marui, strolling over with Shimizu by his side. They had a knack for inviting themselves into conversations.

Shimizu nodded. "Little-known fact: Yukimura Seiichi is all Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. We were right to assign him a Biblical title… we just gave him the wrong one." She turned to An, and asked frankly, "And how are _you _holding up? Without your best buddy?"

"It's all good" was on the tip of An's tongue, but then she glanced at Kirihara, recalling their exchange from the day she'd been pulled from her match:

_"Stop looking at me like you want to knock me down."_

_"Maybe that's what I want to do. At least if I knocked the wind out of you, you wouldn't have the breath to keep repeating your 'I'm great and everything's fine and I don't need anyone' mantra. How have you not gotten over that already?"_

And she said slowly, haltingly, "It… it sucks. I don't know. I mean, yeah, it's really rough for me, but… she made the right decision. I'm happy for her because she did what was best for her." _For once, she did something for herself, instead of for her brother, or Niou-senpai, or me…_

"That she did," agreed Marui casually, running a hand through his hair. An suspected he used more conditioner than she did. "Should be interesting to see how she does at Hyotei—maybe she can even bring Atobe's ego down a notch or two. Sayoko-chan can be pretty sassy when she wants to be, and God knows she can give the Look of Doom just as well as Yukimura."

"Great, so we _and _Hyotei get to feel like shit about ourselves." Kirihara leaned back against a set of lockers, his long legs stretched before him and his hands in his pockets. "Yukimura-buchou is gonna be so pissy today…"

"Don't forget about Niou," said Shimizu cheerfully. "From what little I know, sounds like he'll be just as unpleasant."

"He's not a pleasant person to begin with," Marui shrugged, "and I actually… I don't know how Niou is going to take this. I mean, he must have known beforehand, right? I can understand Sayoko-chan being too scared to tell her brother until the last moment, but surely Niou knew." They all looked to An for confirmation.

She shifted her weight. "Um…" Sayoko had said An was the first person she'd told… had she just told Niou later that day?

Or not at all?

At last she said, "I'm not really sure. All I know is I wouldn't touch Niou-senpai with a twenty-foot pole on the best of days, and for the next few days, I'm gonna actively try to avoid him. So from whatever direction come sounds of misery and torment, I am heading the opposite way."

"That's a change of pace," Kirihara commented lazily as he pushed off the lockers, "given the over-involved goody-two-shoes you usually are." He said it without venom, though, and when he walked past to reenter the classroom, he didn't flick her forehead or bump her hip with his, but he didn't pointedly leave two feet of space between them, either.

So that was… something.

"Looks like you two are getting along swimmingly," observed Marui, just as Shimizu asked, "So it'll be an autumn wedding, won't it? I hate wearing formal dresses when it's hot out. My thighs stick together."

An stuck her tongue out at them. "If anybody's getting married, it's you two. You're more of a couple than any actual couple I've ever met. How long have you known each other, anyway?"

"We go back," said Marui vaguely. "We took piano lessons together when we were little. I had a prodigious talent likened to that of Mozart."

"His rendition of 'Mary Had a Little Lamb' moved people to tears," Shimizu deadpanned. "_Rolling Stone _magazine described it as 'enthralling… truly one of the greatest musical performances of our time.'"

"And that was before I even added a dance number."

They bantered back and forth a few moments longer, playing off each other's additions, and An couldn't help but be envious of that level of understanding and compatibility, that degree of friendship.

It hadn't even been a day, and already she missed Sayoko like hell.

~x~

As spots opened up, Hyotei often got students who transferred in mid-semester, so they were set up to accommodate Sayoko. The homeroom teacher of class 2-B handed her an enormous three-ring binder of already-covered material. "You'll want to review this information as quickly as possible, as everything you learn from here on out will compound on it."

A cursory glance through the pages elucidated why spots opened up at Hyotei: because people couldn't _keep _up.

But Sayoko was already familiar with much of the social science aspects through Rikkai's similarly rigorous curriculum and through her own supplementary reading, and was excited about most of the subjects next on the syllabi. The most pressing item currently on her agenda was not academic but, unfortunately, social.

Social standing had been important at Rikkai, but it had been… different, based on who you knew, who you were related to, and a variety of other factors: looks, athleticism, academic prowess. It had been a mostly static thing, with people accepting their designated spheres of influence and working within them.

But at Hyotei Sayoko could already tell that nothing was static and nothing was taken for granted. Nearly every exchange she observed between people involved some sort of subtle power struggle, as if through just one conversation you could establish yourself as being "above" someone, then proceed to climbing up higher, and higher, and higher.

Then someone interrupted her musings. "So what do you think of Hyotei so far, Yukimura-chan?" A boy from her class stood before her desk, peering at her through bangs made trendy by a popular boy band. His voice was sly when he asked, "How does it compare to your Rikkai?"

Her teachers hadn't made her introduce herself to the class—thank God—but everyone already knew who she was, what school she'd come from, and why that mattered. No matter where you were, the name "Yukimura" carried weight.

Even if only one of the Yukimuras was actually carrying the weight, and the other was just being carried along in his wake.

Sayoko looked up at him through her eyelashes—not coyly, but idly. This boy whose name she didn't know was just another in an already long line of people testing her, trying to gauge where she stood, whether she was like her famous brother, and what her strategy would be for climbing the social ranks.

_You bore me, _she thought at the boy. She said, aware people around her were listening, "Tell you what, you transfer to Rikkai and see how you like things there, and then later we can reconvene and compare notes. Yeah?" She tilted her head, smiling at him. Her smile said, _I'm not going to play this game. I'm not trying to win anything, but you can't make me lose, either._

Then she made her smile grow warmer. It was only an incremental increase, but she knew it made an impact. "But thanks for asking." Antagonizing people wouldn't make her life any easier down the road, and she understood that this give-and-take-take-take was simply the culture at Hyotei.

She just didn't want to participate in it.

Before he could reply, she stood and approached the classroom door, though she wasn't quite sure where to go. They had a considerable amount of break time left, and all she really wanted to do was find somewhere she could sit and be alone for a little while. At Rikkai she'd occasionally been able to relax and shed her public persona, but here she was under constant scrutiny.

It was _exhausting_, but soon enough it would die down, and at least she wasn't trying to _force _anything: not charm or grace, not confidence or poise. Wasn't trying to prove, as she'd felt she'd had to at Rikkai, that there really hadn't been a mix-up at birth, that she really was related to the Child of God. That he didn't have to be ashamed of calling her his sister.

Here, all she wanted was to be _herself_…

And, apparently, also get in touch with her Disney princess, touchy-feely side.

Sayoko was picturing herself giving a really inspiring, heartwarming TED Talk about following your heart and being true to who you are, culminating in pink glitter and heart-shaped balloons dropping from the ceiling as the audience burst into thunderous applause, when someone grabbed her arm. She whirled, lips already parted to aim scathing words at whoever had had the nerve to touch her—only to blink instead.

The enormous hand wrapped around her forearm belonged to the massive, quiet boy who sat at the other end of the classroom. She recognized him as one of the tennis regulars, particularly one that perpetually flanked Atobe like a bodyguard. His grip was shockingly gentle—he could have held a butterfly without harming it—and his expression was vacant, save for a slight spark of determination in his gaze.

But he didn't say anything. "I," Sayoko began, only to falter. People were watching… "I… Let go of me." He did, his hand falling to his side. He towered over her, yet she didn't feel threatened at all. In fact, she almost felt _protective _of him, for God knew what reason. There was something… warm about him, simple and childlike. Incredibly innocent.

She regarded him uncertainly. "Well… what is it?"

He said, "Wait."

"… Wait? For what?" When he didn't reply, she tried to address him, only to realize— "I'm sorry, I don't know your name." How had she become the one to apologize in this situation? What was going _on_? "Mine is Sayoko," she offered. "Yukimura Sayoko."

"I know." He tilted his head. It was like a tectonic plate shifting. "I'm Kabaji."

"Well, Kabaji-kun… what do you want? Why am I supposed to wait?"

He seemed to struggle inwardly for a moment, before: "Atobe said," he spoke slowly, carefully, enunciating as if first learning the words, "that I should have you wait. Until he gets here."

"_Atobe_-san did?" asked Sayoko incredulously, just as a voice from behind her said, "Yes, and you've done a marvelous job, Kabaji. Thank you. You may sit down now."

As Kabaji lumbered back to his seat, Sayoko turned to find none other than Atobe Keigo himself standing behind her, one hand in his pocket and the other hanging loosely by his side. He was smirking slightly, but his voice was cordial when he said, "Nice to see you again, Yukimura-kun. Our uniform looks lovely on you."

She just looked at him. He smiled. "If you'd grant me a moment of your time." Phrased though it was as a request, it most certainly was not: his tone was the same as her brother's when implementing the same trick, though not as deceptively soft. Sayoko knew better than to disregard that tone, and truth be told, she was… curious. Wary, but curious.

"Of course, Atobe-san." She made the mistake of glancing over her shoulder to meet the eyes of all her classmates observing the exchange. She recovered by raising her eyebrows in a this-is-_hardly_-a-big-deal kind of way, offered a small wave to Kabaji, then turned and followed Atobe into the hallway, where other students were mingling.

The respect they treated him with was nothing new to her—she could count on one hand the number of times she'd witnessed someone behave rudely toward her brother—but she immediately noticed he was more _approachable _to the general student population than her brother was. People called out greetings to Atobe, while at Rikkai most people adopted a speak-only-when-he-deigns-to-speak-to-you policy in regards to her brother.

She also noticed that their walking together was garnering quite a bit of attention, which would generate more "So you transferred here because you and Atobe are dating, right?" questions and rumors she would have to deflect. Really, being seen with Atobe was hugely detrimental to her convince-everyone-to-let-her-be strategy._  
_

Because in a school where power was taken and prestige was built and you could lose it all at a moment's notice, she'd surmised one thing: Atobe was exempt. Atobe was _king_. Other people had to fight to climb higher, but he was already permanently ensconced on top.

She looked at his back, and she thought, _I will never be able to relate to you._

"Here we are." Atobe procured a key from his pocket to unlock a door marked "Student Council," and ushered an already on-guard Sayoko inside.

Once he'd shut the door behind them, she crossed her arms and, without even bothering to look around, demanded, "Are you going to try to convince me to join your student council?" She was so _sick _of people trying to run her life—that was why she'd come here in the goddamned first place.

Her outburst didn't faze him in the least. He asked wryly, "Would my doing so have the opposite effect?"

"Well." She went to inspect her nails, only to realize belatedly that she didn't really have any nails to inspect. "Yes."

"Well then." He smiled with easy self-assurance. "If that's the case, I'm glad that's not my motive, as I don't want to dissuade you from joining—wasted talent quite irritates me."

She considered him closely, before casting her gaze about the room. It was an elegant, well-furnished sitting room, with doors leading to two other rooms. The first was open and offered a view of an enormous boardroom type of set-up, where doubtlessly the council actually met. The second was closed, but was marked "Student Council President."

She turned back to him. "If you're not trying to convince me to join, why bring me here?"

"To offer you the space as somewhere you can come during breaks, or lunch, or before school. The council meets most days after school, and I'm in my office quite often," he gestured toward the closed door, "but otherwise, no one else is in here. It's yours to utilize, if you wish."

At her incredulous expression, he smiled again. Distantly, she noted something very odd: nearly every time she had seen him smile, the smile had reached his eyes. "I assumed someone as introverted as you are would appreciate somewhere you can be alone, especially given all the attention you'll continue to garner in the coming weeks." Amusement lit his eyes. "If you ever _stop _attracting attention, that is. I've already heard all about your stonewalling."

Sayoko leveled him a cool, flat look. "My brother. He asked you to look out for me, didn't he. That's why you're doing this."

That seemed to further amuse him. "He's asked me no such thing, though that's only because he assumes it's an implicit understanding. I'm not doing this for your brother."

"Right." She rolled her hip out to the side, placed a hand on it. "So I'm left to believe you're doing this for me? Because you know me so well, right? Because we've been through so much together and have formed such a deep, close bond?" Sarcasm was a sharp citrus tang on her tongue.

Still smiling slightly, he leveled her a look right back: still amused, but with the quietest hint of warning. She hadn't crossed the line, but she was approaching it. "I am doing this," he said calmly, "because believe it or not, I am already rather fond of you, Yukimura-kun, and I anticipate growing fonder of you as I do actually get to know you. That's all."

"I… I don't…" _This has to be some sort of trick, _she thought frantically. _Why would he do anything for me? He doesn't even know me. Real people aren't like this. _"Atobe-san, I'm already indebted to you, remember? For helping me transfer so quickly. To do this for me as well…" She was now not so much crossing her arms as hugging them to her chest. "What do you want from me?"

"You'll have trouble accepting this, I'm sure," he replied lightly, "but there's nothing I want from you in return." His smile turned into a smirk. "I want for very little, you see."

She bristled at the arrogance that had colored his words, but then— "Furthermore," he went on, "I've found how people treat Kabaji is a good test of their character, and given how you spoke to him, I'm even more inclined to think well of you. Many people tend to assume he's as dim as he first appears, and interact with him accordingly." Now warmth, real warmth, was in his voice: clearly he truly cared about Kabaji.

"At any rate," he spread his hands, "this space is yours to use—I'll leave the door unlocked for you. No one else will come in without my permission. And if you really would like to join the council, please speak to me about it. Until then, I won't monopolize any more of your time." He turned to leave.

"Atobe-san," she said quietly, and when he turned back: "… Thank you." _For this, and for getting me here in the first place._

With a faint smirk, all he said was, "That's Atobe-_senpai_, now, Yukimura-kun."

And then he was gone.

~x~

Yukimura was waiting for An by the school gates when she left afternoon practice, which immediately made her cautious—normally when he wanted to speak with her, he sent for her. For him to wait for her himself…

"Yukimura-senpai," she called, flashing a sunny smile, as if she didn't suspect anything was wrong. "What's up? Need me to walk you home so you don't get jumped?"

"Kind of you to offer." Though her hair was dark and damp with sweat, he reached out and tucked a strand behind her ear, his fingertips lingering on her cheek. "How was practice?" His voice was light, but held an unidentifiable undercurrent.

"It was good. Fuyumi-buchou and Shimizu-fukubuchou are already looking ahead to Nationals, and devising our training schedules in preparation. It's gonna be intense."

"I see." He let his hand fall from her face. His own was unreadable when he asked, "And how are you doing without Sayoko?"

She looked at him for a moment. Said softly, "I could ask you the same thing."

Yukimura went very still, but his eyes, fixed though they were on her, conveyed movement, conveyed tumult, conveyed discord and agitation and a number of other things terribly uncharacteristic of him. Uncharacteristic of, but perhaps—perhaps not unfamiliar to him? She didn't know. The only thing she could say for sure was that Yukimura was unhappy.

Yukimura was unhappy, and that couldn't bode well for anyone.

"Yukimura-senpai…" She took his hand in hers, and when he didn't pull it free, gripped it more firmly, lacing her fingers though his. "You can tell me what you're thinking, Yukimura-senpai. If the thing is that you don't think I would understand… well, I can't promise I will, but—but I promise I'll listen." She held his gaze as best she could, even though every one of her instincts told her to look away.

No one was supposed to see the Child of God upset.

His soft, even voice belied whatever he was experiencing internally. All he said was, "I just miss her, that's all. I don't—" He cut himself off, and though he did it with grace and even added a small smile as a finishing move, it was telling. But who was she to call him on it?

And yet.

She took a deep breath, held his hand tighter as a steadying anchor. "Yukimura-senpai, this might be out of line, but—but I think it needs to be said. And I'm sure you know it already, but… but I just want you to know that it's something I'm really concerned about. And I'm really…" She swallowed once, lifted her chin. "It's something I hope we can agree on."

He tilted his head.

She said, "Sayoko's coming to watch you play this Sunday, right? Well I think… I _know_… that if she saw or heard or just, I don't know, got the feeling that her transferring had made you or even Niou-senpai or me really, really upset… she would feel terrible about herself. Just really, really _awful _and guilty. Maybe even enough to come back.

"So please… please, if you're upset, talk to me, all right? I'm right here. I'll listen. Just don't… I think this is really good for Sayoko, you know? Just really brave, and pretty smart, and I _really _want it to work out for her. I want her to be happy, and I know you do too. So I really think that even though we miss her, we should just—we should try to be happy for her. And let her know that."

She wanted to tell him, _Don't let Sayoko see how much this is killing you._

Yukimura said quietly, "I'll do what I think is best for Sayoko. I promise."

_But that's what you've done in the past, _she thought miserably, _and it hasn't really worked out well, has it?_

But before she could work up the courage to say something along those lines (much more respectfully, of course) he asked, "Has Sayoko… is this something she's talked about in the past? About wanting to do? To leave."

An shook her head slowly. "No, senpai. I was as surprised as you are." Trying to correctly interpret his line of questioning, she offered haltingly, "I think it's not so much to leave things behind as she just wanted something new. If that makes sense." What she was trying to say was, _Don't think she left because of you._

Because she hadn't. Had she?

But his hand still in hers, Yukimura's only reply was, "I'll walk you home."

She knew better than to decline.

~x~

Yanagi was already waiting at the street courts when Yukimura showed up later that night. "Ah," said Yukimura lightly, adjusting the strap of his tennis bag, "I suppose I should have expected you to expect me to come here. Isn't that right?" Without waiting for an answer, he cast his eyes about the deserted courts. "You cleared everyone off, did you? Afraid I would have used the yips to temporarily paralyze half of Yokohama's tennis-playing population?"

Calmly, Yanagi said, "Yes."

"Well." Yukimura smiled. It was a bright, fierce thing. "You're probably right. Then again, you always are, Renji." With uncharacteristic carelessness, he tossed his bag to the ground, unzipped it. "Let's play."

That day during school, exactly thirty-two rumors had circulated, all of them variations on three themes: the first being that Sayoko had transferred to be with Atobe, the second being that she'd caught Niou with another girl and been heartbroken enough to leave, and the third being that Yukimura had found out about her and Niou and _forced _her to transfer.

Exactly two people had been foolish enough to ask Yukimura about it directly.

Yanagi knew with hundred percent certainty that those thirty-two rumors and those two people were fifty percent responsible for the anger and ill humor that had motivated Yukimura to work the team ragged at practice that afternoon, and motivated him to come looking for further people to devastate at the street courts.

The other fifty percent of Yukimura's anger, Yanagi knew, was directed inward.

And that anger did not abate even a little once he had won what hadn't even been an actual match but had just been Yukimura hitting and hitting and hitting and Yanagi running and running and running and never, ever running fast enough. Data tennis was useless: he didn't have data on Yukimura like this, not really, data on Yukimura playing like he was born to play, without relying on using the yips as a crutch.

If this Yukimura Seiichi had played Echizen Ryoma, he would have won. Yanagi knew that with hundred percent certainty.

That was no consolation, though, when he finally collapsed to the ground, shaking and sweating, unable to breathe. Yukimura's real tennis could be just as paralyzing as the yips. Yet it was also, without a doubt, something Yanagi rarely took into consideration: It was beautiful.

It was beautiful.

"I don't understand," said Yukimura, only slightly winded as he walked to the other side of the court and sat down by Yanagi, who was lying spread-eagle by the baseline. "I don't understand," he said again, darkly, tearing his fingers through his hair. "I don't understand, I don't under_stand_."

_I know, _Yanagi would have said if he'd had breath to speak, _I know you don't understand._

Accusingly, Yukimura asked, "Did _you _know she would leave? That she couldn't stand to even go to the same school as me? Am I that dreadful? Run some numbers by me, Renji. I want to know exactly what it is about me that's so abhorrent. I want statistics. I wants graphs."

Yanagi drew a deep, shuddering breath. Said weakly, "It's not me you're angry at, Seiichi."

A pause, before: "No," Yukimura admitted, lying down on his back and throwing an arm over his eyes. "No, of course not. It's me. The variable's always me, isn't it? First Kaori, now Sayoko." His voice was quiet. "I drive people away."

He said again, "I don't understand."

And Yanagi knew he wouldn't for a long, long time.

* * *

A few things: I would recommend going back to **250DS **and trying to refamiliarize yourself with An's teammates, as they'll be of increasing importance from here on out. I'll try to post their bios to my profile or something soon to make this easier.

Another OC, mentioned by Yukimura just now, is Okada Kaori, from a related story, **the echoes of angels**. She will also be important, so I'll recommend reading that. YES I KNOW IT'S UNFINISHED. Let me live, bro.

And finally: I am really going to try to incorporate more characters' POVs. Sayoko and An are incredibly unreliable narrators, and other characters - like Yanagi, for example - have a lot that can really add to the story. So.

**2/17/14 Edit**: Girls' bios posted to my profile: just their names, appearance, and what they're most notable for. I feel like it's sort of cheating to say more than that - their personalities should be able to be judged by the story itself.

Disclaimer: I do not own _Prince of Tennis_, or The Fray's "Over My Head" (lyrics at the top).


	2. We've Not Yet Lost All Our Graces

Author's Note: GUYS GUYS I DON'T HAVE TIME TO UPDATE THIS QUICKLY I SHOULD BE WORKING ON REAL STUFF I AM IN COLLEGE IT MAY NOT SEEM LIKE IT BUT I AM GUYS WHAT AM I DOING GUYS WHY

* * *

**Kick Drum Hearts**

_(Wait till you're announced_

_We've not yet lost all our graces_

_The hounds will stay in chains)_

Watanabe Chouko doubted it was a good sign when a second-year from the boys' team showed up at weight-training the next morning to inform her that Yukimura requested her presence once she was free.

She very, very much doubted it.

And yet she couldn't help the pleasure that made her heart beat fast like she'd sprinted a mile. Yukimura Seiichi wanted to see _her_. Sure, ever since third year of middle school he'd included her in his privileged social circle, but this was different: this time he wanted to speak just to her.

(But who was she kidding? He wasn't interested in her. He was interested in a ghost girl, long gone, her breathless laughter still ringing in the air.

Watanabe just happened to be a conduit to that girl's spirit world.)

"Yukimura-senpai wants to see you?" Tachibana repeated curiously once the boy had left. She was spotting for Watanabe, who was lifting weights.

"Had you gotten used to being the only girl he pays attention to?" Watanabe hadn't necessarily intended that to come across snide, but it had.

Tachibana frowned and looked away—presumably before she could snap a retort. Her temper was nearly as hot as Watanabe's own. The younger girl, though in better spirits than she'd been lately, seemed rather bereft at Yukimura Sayoko's departure. _It sucks, _Watanabe might have said sympathetically. _Your best friend up and leaving you. It'll always hurt, but soon enough it will hurt less._

But Tachibana would definitely _not_ expect that from her, and above all else, Watanabe always kept up appearances.

So when she finished her last rep she spoke only to Fuyumi, letting the captain know where she was headed, before stopping in the bathroom to smooth her ponytail and splash some water on her face. Exertion had lent high color to her cheeks, which she actually rather appreciated, given how pale she normally was.

_Porcelain, _her mother said often and with pride. _You have skin __like a perfect porcelain doll, Chouko._

She turned the water off with a sharp twist of her wrist.

Once the boys' tennis compound was in sight, she glanced around for Yukimura, but couldn't find him—and he cut a striking figure. "Yanagi-kun," she called to her year-mate, who was instructing some first-years on slice serves, "where is Yukimura-kun?"

He and all the first-years turned. She raised a single brow. "Seiichi," said Yanagi slowly, "is in the clubhouse." Somehow he gave her a terribly measured look without showing even a glimpse of his irises.

"Thank you." She didn't voice her concerns: should she just wait outside for him? Was she _allowed _to go in the clubhouse? What if some of the guys were undressing? Unwilling to ask for Yanagi's guidance, she turned on her heel and strode right up to the clubhouse, though she opened the door hesitantly, craning her neck to see inside. All she saw were rows of lockers; it appeared to be deserted.

Stepping inside, she eased the door shut behind her so slowly it didn't make a sound. Then, she cursed herself: shouldn't she be making noise so she didn't startle anyone?

_For Christ's sake, Chouko, get a grip, _she scolded herself. _You're not approaching a goddamned bear._

The locker room half of the boys' clubhouse was even cleaner than the girls'. She'd been expecting to find smelly boy-clothes everywhere, but realized that was stupid—neither Yukimura nor Sanada would ever allow anything less than spotlessness. The clubhouses had identical layouts, so she went further back, knowing she'd find a lounge as well as the coach's office, the door to which she knocked on with three sharp raps.

It opened. There stood Yukimura, the door-frame functioning to frame him as a picture, though photos did not do Yukimura justice. They stripped him of his aura, of his presence, of that intangible aspect of him that made her feel like he'd ripped her heart from her chest and replaced it with a tropical storm.

"Ah," he smiled. "Please come in."

Though it was technically the coach's office, Rikkai (the boys' and girls' teams both) had a coach only on paper. Fuyumi had made a case worthy of a lawyer in proving she didn't need one, and rumor had it Yukimura had actively run his off.

So effectively the office was Yukimura's. His desk, surprisingly, was somewhat cluttered; a watercolor painting of a lighthouse hung on the wall.

Gesturing for her to take the seat opposite his desk, Yukimura rested his chin on his hand. "How are you, Watanabe-chan?"

"I'm well, thank you. And you?"

"I'm also well," he echoed. Watanabe didn't believe him. His long slim fingers tugged absently at his crooked tie, and his gaze was distant, almost clouded. That disconcerted her terribly. Normally his eyes, blue like childhood, blue like fairy tales, were clear and sharp as mirror shards. The last and only other time she'd seen his eyes glazed over had been the weeks following his loss at Nationals.

She'd watched from the stands, she and—

Watanabe bit down on the inside of her cheek. She knew why she was here, though that didn't mean she wanted to address it. She gestured to his school uniform. "You didn't practice this morning?"

"No," his smile was rueful, "I've been doing paperwork. I lead an exciting life, don't I?" Before she could reply, he cut to the chase. "Watanabe-chan, you still keep in touch with Kaori, don't you?" His expression was unreadably pleasant, though she could have sworn the inflection in his voice changed ever so slightly over _Kaori_.

That made her both want to cry and throw a chair at him. Mostly, it made her hurt.

She kept her own face just as impassive. "Yes." _Of course I do. She's my best friend._

"How is she doing at art school?"

"She's doing well." _She's happy, _thought Watanabe fiercely, _she's happy, and she's free, and she's finally, mostly over you._

The same couldn't be said of Watanabe herself. Watanabe, who felt like she'd loved Yukimura since before she'd even met him. Watanabe, who'd been truly pleased for Kaori when she'd begun dating Yukimura, even though she'd cried herself to sleep for what felt like weeks on end.

Watanabe, who had wanted to cry even more when Kaori had said, upon breaking up with Yukimura: _I have to get out of here, Chouko. I can't take it._

She had applied to and been accepted by an art school in Tokyo three weeks later.

"I sense," said Yukimura evenly, "that you're feeling somewhat antagonistic toward me, Watanabe-chan. I hope I haven't done anything to offend."

"Of course not." Her hands, folded in her lap, were white-knuckled.

He smiled serenely. "Then what's wrong?"

_I love you, and you love her. At least—I think I do. Love you. And at least—I think you do. Love her._

All she really knew for certain was that she hurt.

"Yukimura-kun…" Her mouth was ash-dry. "For you to ask me about Kaori for the first time in three years…"

He tilted his head, his wonderland-blue eyes just a little clearer as they fixed on her face. "What of it?"

On his desk stood two framed photographs: one of his team with a Nationals trophy, and another of him and his sister, their knees grass-stained and their childhood-plump cheeks flushed from laughing.

"Nothing," said Watanabe finally. "It's nothing."

~x~

Yukimura Sayoko was so beautiful it hurt like a punch to the gut.

Hiyoshi's family ran a martial arts dojo. He knew about physical pain, and could tell she could inflict it without even lifting a finger. That much she had in common with her brother.

Idly, as their teacher went on about linear operators, he tried to picture the Yukimuras' home life. Presumably their parents were the same way as well, so did they all just walk around blinding one another with their smiles while competing to see who was closest to sainthood?

_False sainthood, _he reminded himself, recalling the one-set match Yukimura had treated him to while his sister had been hashing out exhibition match plans with Atobe. Yukimura's on-court presence was just as overwhelming as Atobe's, yet in a different way: Atobe was incredibly real, insistently, relentlessly _there_. Playing Yukimura was like playing again the wind, against the tides, against the slippery space between night and day.

His presence was a gift and a threat, all at once.

And he hadn't even used the yips.

_Gekokujo, _he thought, to steady himself. _Gekokujo. One day I'll beat him, and Atobe too. All of them._

Though that thought did little to get him through calculus. Yet soon enough that period of their day ended, signaling the beginning of their electives. Hyotei gave its students a high degree of autonomy in designing their own curriculum: they were required to take "generalist" courses with their assigned classes but could take their pick of a few "specialist" classes as well, such as foreign languages and in-depth history courses.

As the students began to disperse, he noticed—as did the rest of the class—when Fujita Ishiko said to Sayoko in a carrying voice, "I love your hair, Yukimura-chan. Did you do it yourself?"

Sayoko's hair was pulled back in a French braid. Without missing a beat, she replied lightly, "Yes, though normally woodland creatures help me do my hair. This morning they only helped me get dressed."

Fujita laughed delicately. "Naturally. Maybe you can teach me how in English class, seeing as we're some of the only second-years at that level. I'm so glad you chose it as your elective—it's so much pressure to be one of the youngest people in the advanced class."

"I'm sure you cope with it beautifully." The faintest trace of boredom permeated Sayoko's voice, audible only to those listening closely—though that was pretty much everyone in the room. It was only her second day, and already the whole school knew she was resisting participating in Hyotei's hierarchy.

Everyone knew she couldn't hold out for long—you couldn't escape getting placed somewhere. The tennis team's ever-changing ranking of its three hundred-plus players was not arbitrary but instead reflected the school itself. As one of the regulars, Hiyoshi automatically occupied a place near the top. If Atobe was the king, then his teammates were effectively princes, and Hiyoshi didn't mind—

—Though that was because he didn't _care_. Social standing, though necessary, was meaningless: only moving up in the _team _ranks counted. Only that was _gekokujo_.

A factor making it further impossible for Sayoko to slip through the cracks unnoticed was her already close association with Atobe, who couldn't slip through the cracks even if he'd _wanted _to (which of course he never, ever would). That he'd personally come to their classroom to see her had added fuel to the rumors already circulating about the two.

One such rumor Shishido had brought up at afternoon practice the day before. "Hey, Atobe," he'd called across the courts so everyone could hear, "shouldn't you be packing right now? You're going on a big romantic trip to Vanuatu with that Yukimura Sayoko, right?"

Atobe, as he was wont to do, had declined to react in a way that would have gratified Shishido, instead saying dismissively, "Don't be ridiculous. Vanuatu is dreadful this time of year."

The team knew the rumors were unfounded—Atobe would have said _something _if there was actually some substance to them, right?—and given what he'd thus far observed of Sayoko, Hiyoshi wasn't surprised. She was so cool and distant, so self-contained, that he doubted she showed a flicker of warmth to _anyone_.

(The irony of him, Hiyoshi Wakashi, thinking that about someone else did not escape him, but neither did it trouble him.)

Though, peculiarly, she did already seem somewhat fond of Kabaji, who already addressed her by her given name. Had he been anyone else, that would have been _obscene_, but with Kabaji it was just… Kabaji. He called you what he called you.

Had Hiyoshi been inclined to actually speak to her, he probably would have just called her "Yukimura."

~x~

Sayoko was so tired of people.

Rikkai was a very large school, but Hyotei was absolutely _massive_. There were people everywhere all the time, talking and laughing and challenging one another and staring at her and Sayoko was so _tired _of it all, but there was no escape.

Except…

As lunch break began, she bit down on her lip. Very badly she wanted to chew her fingernails, but given how people watched her every move, she couldn't risk it. Unless… but could she really swallow her pride and take Atobe up on his suspiciously generous offer?

_Oh, hell, _she thought, pushing back her chair. _It's not like I have that much pride to begin with. My cup of pride far from runneth over._

In fact, her cup of pride had probably sprung a leak—the kind that had sunk the Titanic.

As she walked toward the student council room, she employed a trick of her brother's. She met the eyes of everyone staring at her—didn't glare or smile or so much as raise her eyebrows. Just met their eyes, and soon enough they would look away. When her brother did this it usually took about a second; Sayoko was averaging around three.

That made the half-second look-aways all the more satisfying.

The student council suite was unlocked, as Atobe had said it would be, and empty, as he'd said it would be. A high-resolution TV was mounted on the wall, but she was more interested in her book, Jared Diamond's _Guns, Germs, and Steel_. Though the library had had Japanese copies, she was determined to muddle through it in English—she'd gotten rusty, as her language class here had quickly shown.

She'd only gotten through a page when the door opened. "This is a pleasant surprise," said Atobe in a not-at-all surprised manner. "What are you reading?"

Reluctantly, she showed him the cover. "An excellent book," he observed. "I've always meant to read it in its original language; my copy is in German." He noticed her bag lying open on the floor, a collection of Russian fairy tales, also selected from Hyotei's library, peeking out the top.

He smirked. She couldn't tell if there was unkindness in it. "You've a rather diverse range of interests, haven't you."

"Not really," she replied, unsure why she was being contrary. "They're both books." When he only raised his eyebrows, she insisted, "Well, they _are_."

"So they are, Yukimura-kun," he said appeasingly, "so they are."

Coolly, she asked, "Are you laughing at me?"

"What," he asked with laughter in his eyes and voice, "would ever give you that impression?" She just huffed and turned away, so that she only heard him enter his office, though when she didn't hear the door close, she looked up to see he'd left it open just a crack.

Her eyebrows drew together.

After a couple minutes of looking at her book, then at his door, then back again, she finally sighed and stood up from the sofa. Tapping softly on his door, she said, "Atobe-senpai?"

"Come in."

The far wall boasted a large arched window through which nearly all of Hyotei's grounds could be seen, including the tennis courts. Atobe's desk was a beautiful old mahogany thing, scarred and scratched, and she strongly suspected it belonged not to the school but to him, though she would have expected something newer and fancier.

Like the sleek silver laptop sitting open upon it. Atobe was typing with astonishing speed. "Gawking doesn't become you, Yukimura-kun."

She crossed her arms. "And does it become _you_?"_  
_

He smiled slightly without looking up. "Most things do."

"Except for humility, right? Otherwise you'd exercise some."

Finally he stopped typing. Casting his gaze toward her, he leaned back in his padded leather chair, his chin propped in his hand as two fingers steepled against his cheek. "You," he said with what seemed equal parts amusement and interest, "have quite the mouth on you. Do you talk to your brother like this?"

She bristled. "Of course not."

"Then why speak to me this way?"

"Why?" She lifted her chin. "Are you comparing yourself to my brother?"

"No," he said, his voice just a breath softer, and why the hell was _that_, "no, I am not." And then: "Tea?"

Sayoko stared at him, momentarily thrown. "I… what?" Then she noticed the shiny electric tea-kettle situated on a low bookshelf. Beside it was a box of loose leaf black tea. "Oh… no. Thank you."

He spread his hands. "So what is it you want, then? I'm a busy person."

She exhaled slowly. _Here comes the point of no return. _"I want to join student council."

He smirked. "Are you aiming to steal the presidency from me?"

"Well," she shrugged, "this is a nice office. I might think about it. If I run on a platform of being smarter and prettier, in addition to withdrawing the troops from all the needless wars you've embroiled us in over the years, I don't see how I could lose."

"And how exactly," he drawled, "did you get your hands on my administration's Pentagon papers?"

She ducked her head so he couldn't see her small smile.

~x~

There had, Katsuragi Mikuzu would admit, been a time when her world had revolved around Niou Masaharu.

He embodied the two things she valued most: outstanding tennis skills, and _apathy_. Niou didn't give a fuck about anything or anyone, and Katsuragi _admired _that, coveted that, wanted to peel him open and find the disconnect between his head and his heart so that she could figure out how to cut her own connection.

Eventually she'd concluded he simply didn't _have _a heart.

And that was why she was so disappointed in him now.

He sat in class with his chin on his fist and gaze cast downward. The people in the seats around him were, Katsuragi noticed, either consciously or unconsciously leaning away from him, even the girls who normally killed themselves to get in his line of vision. It was the aura that surrounded him: black as sun-scorched asphalt and just as hot, just as painful.

_Niou Masaharu, _thought Katsuragi despairingly. _When did you become someone who cares so much? Someone who cares about a vanished blue-eyed girl._

He shifted his head slightly, his hair falling in his eyes. She recalled, suddenly, the one time she'd been allowed to run her fingers through that hair. It had been only a year ago, but it felt like a past lifetime. Some things she remembered clearly: the way her tennis skirt had bounced against her thighs as she'd walked, the way the air had seemed thin as it would on Mt. Fuji.

"Hey," she'd said casually to Niou one day after they'd both finished practice, "I think you're pretty hot." She'd lifted a shoulder in a consciously careless way. Added lightly, "So you know."

Other things she remembered in a blur of heat and motion: his smirk, his drawling voice, the back of the bleachers, her hands in his hair, his on her hips, his lips his teeth his tongue—

She frowned. It wasn't something she was proud of, but neither was she ashamed. The boy was a _damn _good kisser, but whatever attraction she'd felt to him had since abated substantially. His good looks and athletic prowess had appealed to her, sure, and of course those still remained, but what had dissolved these past couple months, little by little, was her ideal of him.

Niou Masaharu: couldn't read him, couldn't trick him, couldn't predict what he would do. Couldn't upset or embarrass or hurt him because he didn't _care_. Niou Masaharu: untouchable. Niou Masaharu: everything Katsuragi wanted to be.

Niou Masaharu: visibly bent out of sorts over a girl.

Katsuragi felt a little bit disgusted, and a little bit pitying, but mostly, she was disheartened. If Niou of all people couldn't turn off the caring, couldn't make himself invulnerable to pain, then what chance did _she _have?

When their last class ended, she was the first out the door. Before practice she needed to stop by the home ec. room and—

"Oh," she said, startled. "I… oh."

"Katsuragi-chan, hello," said Yagyuu pleasantly. He had, apparently, just stepped out of the neighboring classroom, 3-A. "Niou-kun is still in there, correct?"

Having recovered her composure, she said idly, "Yeah, I guess so."

He smiled, said confidingly, "He's rather disgruntled today, isn't he."

Katsuragi eyed him, unsure what a safe reply would be. Truthfully she didn't know _anything _that was safe when it came to Yagyuu. A number of people were intimidated by Niou, but to her Yagyuu was far more frightening. That perfect persona with that killer instinct underneath…

Months ago, in the locker-room, Shimizu had said flippantly, "So I definitely feel like we should rank the boys' team on which one of them is most likely to go batshit insane."

"Kirihara," Fujimaru had said darkly and immediately.

Katsuragi disagreed. Kirihara was just a dumb kid. But… "Yagyuu," she'd said quietly, and when everyone had started to protest along the lines of "Are you serious? He's like the _least _likely, aside from poor Jackal," she'd simply walked out of the locker-room and into the sun, which had been beating down mercilessly.

It had been miserably hot that day, too, three years ago: the Kantou finals against Seigaku. She'd been sitting up close for the Doubles 1 match, had _heard _the ball crush into flesh and bone as Yagyuu (masquerading as Niou) had slammed it into that redhead's face.

Looking at him now, she shivered. Because when it all came down to it…

Weren't she and Yagyuu one and the same? Hiding a burning beating _blistering_ drive for tennis, for victory at all costs, behind a facade?

_No, _she thought miserably, _no, no, even if I can't be like Niou, I won't be like you, either. I can't be. Please, don't let that be me. Don't be me._

"Katsuragi-chan?" Yagyuu's voice was laced with concern. "Are you all right? You look rather ill."

"I'm fine," she said shortly, for once not even caring that her distress was evident in her tone. Pushing past him, she raced out of the building and into the sun.

~x~

"The hell did you do to _her_?"

"That's normally the sort of question I find myself asking you, Niou-kun," said Yagyuu as Niou exited the classroom to stand beside him. He'd done absolutely nothing that should have offended Katsuragi Mikuzu. If she had taken issue with him, it was through no fault of his own.

Neutrally, Niou began, "I suspect," but then seemed to reconsider what he was about to say, casting Yagyuu a sideways glance.

If Yanagi had been there, he would have provided a statistic on how often Niou's suspicions proved true. He'd offered it once before, and it had been damn close to a hundred percent.

Though he hadn't suspected Sayoko would leave.

"How was your day?" Yagyuu asked as they walked to practice.

"Absolutely enthralling," Niou deadpanned.

Though he didn't ask about Yagyuu's, Yagyuu told him anyway. "Mine was quite busy. I called an impromptu meeting of the student council during lunch."

"You finally decided to add women's rights to the agenda? Or was this an emergency meeting about Rikkai's failing welfare system?"

"It was a meeting," said Yagyuu calmly, "about who's going to take over organizing the school dance now that Sayoko-chan is gone. She was almost exclusively in charge." And had been doing a great job—Yagyuu had spent the previous evening poring over her notes, which were faultless. Implementing her plans wouldn't be terribly difficult.

"Either try your best to provoke me," replied Niou, equally calm, "or don't try at all. You're the snarkiest bastard I've ever met, Yagyuu—don't start half-assing things now."

"Don't flatter yourself," Yagyuu snipped. "If I were inclined to provoke you, I'd simply point out that your roots are beginning to show." Niou smirked. There was a reason they got along so well. "I only wanted," he continued, "to lead up to Sayoko-chan being at the match this weekend."

"Groundbreaking information." Yagyuu had probably heard Niou speak more flatly than that, but not by much. "Next you'll tell me Sanada will be there."

A vein near Yagyuu's temple pulsed. One of Niou's least endearing qualities was his tendency to take his bad moods out on the world in general, and on the people he cared about most in particular. It was an unhealthy, destructive habit that meant that Yagyuu received more than his fair share of sneering sarcasm, though he did give as good (and sometimes better) than he got.

It also meant Sayoko was was likely to face the firing squad.

He kept it short. "For everyone's sake, Niou-kun, when you see Sayoko-chan on Sunday… don't do something you'll regret."

~x~

"My name is Ikeda Ai," the girl had said upon approaching Sayoko after school that day, "and I'm the student council vice president. Would you like to get coffee with me?"

And just like that, Sayoko ended up in an almost unbearably trendy cafe drinking overpriced green tea.

"Atobe texted me earlier today telling me you wanted to join the council, so our secretary already has your paperwork being processed." Ikeda took a sip of her latte, leaving a trace of foam on her lips. Sayoko sensed she was aware of this, and simply wasn't concerned about it. "We meet after school on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays for about an hour."

Sayoko didn't know what to say, so she only inclined her head in acknowledgment, making Ikeda smile. "So regal," she commented, "like a princess."

Which was an odd thing to bring up. Because Sayoko had, in about two minutes of walking through Hyotei's halls with Ikeda, realized something: if Atobe was Hyotei's king, Ikeda was the queen. It was in the way people looked at her, and it was in the way she looked at them. It was _there_; it was tangible. Not a vague idea but a _crown _whose weight everyone could feel, though only one person wore it.

_Well, _Sayoko amended, _Atobe-senpai doubtlessly has his own crown. Actually, probably a collection of them, many sporting peacock feathers._

"So." Ikeda clasped her hands in front of her. Her hair was brown and glossy, her figure short and plump. Her voice was white gold. "2-B already has a representative, of course, but we do include general council members, especially those recommended by Atobe Keigo himself. Though you're the entirety of that demographic."

"Indebted-to-Atobe-Senpai Town," Sayoko sighed, "population: one."

Ikeda laughed, but Sayoko winced internally. She probably shouldn't have said that. It was just that she felt almost _comfortable _around Ikeda already, which was absurd. What was it about her?

"What _is _going on between you and Atobe?" Ikeda asked conversationally. "I hear so much, but I have no idea what to believe."

"Nothing," said Sayoko a little crankily, wishing she could go back in time and slap hey-might-as-well-roll-with-the-dating-Atobe-rumors Sayoko right across her lying face.

Ikeda dipped a stubby finger in her latte, licked off the foam. "Well, what do you think of him?"

It occurred to Sayoko, then, that thus far she hadn't really stopped to figure out exactly what she did think of Atobe Keigo. Should she really be having this conversation with Ikeda, who worked with him as vice president and essentially ruled the school with him?

Ikeda noticed her hesitance to speak and probably realized the cause, but said nothing, just smiled a little. It wasn't a prompting smile; instead it said _Trust me if you want, and if you don't, that's all right too._

Sayoko just lifted a shoulder and offered her own small smile, but it wasn't necessarily that she didn't want to say what she thought. Instead, it was really that she still had absolutely no idea what to make of the phenomenon that was Atobe Keigo.

~x~

The phone rang six times before he answered it—but then, he was in practice. Ikeda knew she was one of very few people for whom he would pick up. Before he could speak, she said by way of greeting, "So I just talked to Yukimura Sayoko for about an hour."

"Oh?" Atobe's voice was neutral. "What did you think?"

"I think," Ikeda smiled, "that she might speak the language of queens."

~x~

"Yukimura-senpai…" An went to say something, then appeared to reconsider, saying instead: "You must really like to stand there, huh?"

She was referring, of course, to where he was leaning against the school gate. "I feel it brings out my eyes," he said lightly, standing up straighter and readjusting the strap of his bag. "Ready to go?"

"… You're walking me home again? That's really nice, senpai, but it's sort of out of the way for you."

"I don't mind," he replied, and began walking in the direction of her aunt's apartment, knowing she would follow.

Once she'd caught up with him, she began, "Yukimura-senpai… today at practice Watanabe-senpai seemed sort of—tense. Well, she always seems tense," An amended, "and actually, Katsuragi-senpai was acting sort of weird too. But that's not the point. Senpai—is everything okay between you and Watanabe-senpai? I know you're friends."

That gave him pause. "Friends?" he echoed.

"Well, yeah." She regarded him curiously. "Aren't you? You talked to her this morning, right? And whenever we're at a tournament or whatever, you usually sit with her. I mean, of all the people you could sit with, you almost always choose her. Her and some other people."

"I do," he acknowledged. Did that make them friends? He'd never really considered it before, but figured it didn't make a difference anyway. Answering her original question, he replied, "Everything is fine between Watanabe-chan and myself."

"Okay," said An easily. Then: "What did you talk to her about this morning?"

Yukimura recalled Watanabe's watchful dark eyes, her perfect posture, the way everything she'd said had been taut with feelings unacknowledged and words unspoken. _Nothing, _she'd said. _It's nothing. _"We have," he said finally, "a mutual acquaintance."

(He thought of Kaori then, Kaori with her watercolor-soft voice and starlight-secret smile, Kaori saying _Seiichi, Seiichi, Seiichi_.)

An said, "Okada Kaori. Your ex-girlfriend. Right?"

Yukimura stopped walking. Raised his eyebrows at her.

She winced. "I may or may not," she admitted, "have done some snooping today. I'm sorry if that was wrong of me."

"… It's fine," he said at length. "It's not a secret." Beginning to walk again, he asked, "But why would you do that?"

"Because," she said quietly, in a tone of voice that made him stop and turn once more, "I'm worried about you, Yukimura Seiichi."

~x~

That night, An dreamed of blue eyes and gray skies and wings spread wide over a world gone red, while Sayoko, in fitful, fragmented bouts, dreamed of ringing laughter, silver and sinister as a switchblade.

* * *

Anyone know the poem Ikeda's quoting with "the language of queens"? It's real hot on tumblr right now.

Also, going through the manga, I have reconfirmed my observation that _Atobe Keigo does not actually talk that much_. I really detest how he's so often portrayed in fandom as some footloose and fancy-free showboat crowing about how fabulous he is.

Yes, Atobe is arrogant. Yes, he is dramatic. Yes, he calls for attention. But that last one is important - _does he do that all the time_? No. In fact, he's really not one of the most talkative Hyotei regulars. (Though, naturally, he can't be compared to the likes of Kabaji or Hiyoshi. Also, Hiyoshi's type of girl is "delicate." The fuck, bro.)

We see Atobe's thought-bubbles just as often as we see his speech-bubbles. I do think he's extroverted, but he definitely spends a lot of time in his own head, just thinking and watching. Not to the extent of some other characters in the series, but if you'll recall, one thing he's renowned for is his _insight_. He studies people. He reads them.

So yeah. My take on Atobe may be rather different than other people's. Sorrynotsorry.

Special thanks to **livinglifeasitis **for being awesome. Also, anonymous reviewers - I really wish you'd get accounts so that I could talk to you. :(

Disclaimer: I do not own _Prince of Tennis_, or Lorde's "Team" (lyrics at the top).


	3. I'll Be the Beauty Queen in Tears

Author's Note: Writing from different people's POV's can get confusing. Sayoko and An, even in strangers' POVs, will almost always be called Sayoko and An, otherwise it would get hella confusingggg

* * *

**Kick Drum Hearts**

_(But you treat me like a stranger_

_And that feels so rough_

_No, you didn't have to stoop so low)_

That Sunday, Sayoko was just stepping out of her dorm room when her phone buzzed. A text from An: **registering right now & then heading over to our court. see you soon! watch out for capitalism**

And then:

**meant capibaras. hate auto correct**

Smiling broadly, Sayoko replied with: **Will watch out for both, and for cacti too, just to be safe. **Tucking her phone into the back pocket of her short black skirt, she made her way down the hallway, her heeled boots clicking against the gleaming tiles. Hyotei's three dorm buildings were populated by domestic and international students alike, for Hyotei had sister schools in Berlin, Seattle, Seoul, and Rio.

Truly Sayoko's family lived close enough that she could have commuted (Kanagawa was part of the Greater Tokyo Area, after all) but her parents hadn't wanted her on the buses or the subway that early or that often.

Not to mention that living at home would have defeated much of the purpose of transferring in the first place.

She'd been so caught up in adjusting to Hyotei that she hadn't reflected much on the situation she'd left (it was so much easier to be the one _leaving _than _left behind_), but it was catching up with her now: her stomach and chest were tight with nerves; every beat of her heart she felt in her spine, in her throat, in her temples. _It's only been a week, _she scolded herself. _Only a couple months ago I came back after having been gone for almost a year__. Calm down._

But when she approached the tournament grounds' registration area and saw Rikkai heading there from the opposite direction, she stopped dead in her tracks. Her brother's jacket was draped over his shoulders, and his team was fanned out behind him, an invading army and a victory march all at once, and _everyone _was staring at them, backing up, and how had she never noticed how _sharp _Marui's eyes were, and how _fierce _Sanada's scowl, and—

And why was she _intimidated _by them? _I grew up with those boys, _she reminded herself. _Marui-senpai gave me a set of puffy panda stickers for my birthday. If I have a team, they're it. They're mine._

Yet when her brother's gaze fell on her, she forgot all that. Forgot everything but those eyes, the same ones that looked back at her in the mirror every morning, yet with a weight to them, a shine and a burn and she was reaching, she was reaching reaching reaching and—_  
_

And then he smiled.

Her brother smiled at her, and Sayoko nearly burst into tears.

But he would _not _appreciate a tearful emotional display, not at a tournament, not with at least a hundred players from other teams watching, so she kept her steps unhurried and her face calm as she approached him. As she got closer, though, she began walking a little quicker, and her expression started to crack, and finally she just didn't _care _anymore.

She threw her arms around him, knocking his jacket from his shoulders and burying her face in his chest. She said, "Oniisan."

It had been her first word, and would always be the first one on her tongue whenever she was happy or sad or scared or angry or lost and Oniisan, Oniisan, _Oniisan_.

"Sayoko," he said, his voice brimming with soft laughter, "unless you'd like to sign up for Singles Three, you'll need to wait just a moment while we register, and then we can talk. All right?"

Beaming up at him, she replied, "At least put me in Singles _Two_," but obediently released him and stepped aside as he retrieved his jacket and approached the registration table, the team following. Yanagi patted her head in passing and Marui winked at her, but she barely noticed, her attention immediately moving from her brother to—

Niou walked past without even looking at her.

His disregard was a blade placed neatly between her ribs.

She couldn't see, couldn't speak, could hardly breathe. _It's all right, _she told herself fiercely as the rest of the team passed by in a blur of yellow, all smirks and arrogance and thrumming energy. _It's all right. He's just angry I left without telling him. I'd be angry if he did the same. It's all right. I just have to explain. I'll make it better. Things always get better between us. It's all right._

But even if she'd been so inclined to have such a private conversation in front of so many people, she wouldn't have had the chance: as soon as her brother submitted the roster and the officials confirmed that all players were present, Niou wandered off without a backwards glance. The girls, as always, were playing first, so her brother's team had a good bit of time before their court opened up.

Sayoko didn't realize her brother had returned to her side until he placed a hand on her shoulder. "Sayo_ko_," he said in a tone she was pretty sure all older brothers mastered between the ages of five and six, "you're not sleeping well, are you?" He'd noticed, she knew, the faint shadows under her eyes.

"… No," she said at last. "No, not yet. Soon enough." It always took her a long time to adjust to sleeping in new places; it was just something she'd accepted. She didn't mention that this time, part of her troubles stemmed from her dreams.

(He was laughing. He was laughing, laughing, always _laughing_—)

Suppressing a shiver, she took him by the arm, tugged lightly. Was she imagining it, or was there something _off _about her brother? "Oniisan," she said, trying to regain the bright rushing happiness she'd felt at being reunited with him, "come on. Let's go watch An play."

~x~

Seeing the Yukimura siblings talking softly to each other made An's heart crackle with envy and happiness all at once. Breaking off the conversation she'd been having with Takamiya, who just smiled good-naturedly, An ran up and threw herself at Sayoko in something that was half a hug and half an American football tackle.

Moments later, regarding the two girls sprawled on the ground, Yukimura commented lightly, "That went well, I think."

They were both laughing as he helped them up; the fall had torn Sayoko's red tights a little, but she shrugged it off. "Makes me look edgy. What would you guys do if I shaved off all my hair and got a tattoo of a shark on my forehead?"

"Copy you," said An, at the same time that Yukimura answered, "Disown you."

"That's _mean, _Oniisan."

"Can I have whatever Sayoko would have gotten in your will?" inquired An. At Sayoko's affronted look, she shrugged. "What? I'm an opportunist. And I've got a family to support. Or at least, I will once I get all those cats I'm destined to have."

"_Wimble_," said Sayoko then, turning to her brother with a mournful look. "How is he? Does he miss me? Does he scratch at my bedroom door every night, crying for me?" Urgently, she asked, "Are you _feeding _him?"

"No," said her brother dryly. "We decided to let him fast for spiritual purposes. We're hoping he'll reach feline nirvana soon, as he's already rather thin…" Sayoko's outraged squawking sounded, An supposed, remarkably like a dying ostrich. Her brother just smiled and went to join his team, who were standing with An's by the court, leaving the girls alone to talk.

Immediately Sayoko stopped squawking. "An," she said hesitantly, "does my brother—does he seem all right to you?"

"… Yeah," said An, looking slightly to the left of Sayoko. "Yeah, of course. I mean, he misses you, obviously, but—but he's all good. He's happy for you, happy that you're doing so well at Hyotei. Because you are doing well, right?" she asked brightly. "Tell me all about it. Your texts aren't enough."

After a beat, Sayoko complied with the topic-change, describing her first week at Hyotei, and internally An breathed a sigh of relief. She didn't know how to talk about Yukimura without distressing Sayoko greatly, because there was _reason _for distress.

_I'm worried about you, Yukimura Seiichi_, she'd said, and meant it. At that he had looked at her like he'd never seen her before.

"—and Hyotei students are just," Sayoko finished, "they're just…" She shook her head. "They are rare and magical beasts."

"Sounds like the sort of school Atobe-kun would go to," An grinned. "You like it there, yeah? Overall?"

"… I think so," said Sayoko slowly, touching her lower lip the way she did when she wanted to chew her nails. "I mean, it's still pretty soon to say, but… yeah. Yeah, despite everything." She smiled a little. "How are things with you? What seed are you right now?"

"Three," said An, trying to keep the negativity out of her voice. "I still haven't challenged Katsuragi-senpai for Singles Two. I figure I haven't gotten any better, so there's no point yet. I just—I really am committed to the team now, you know? For better or for worse, I'm committed. But it doesn't seem to have changed anything." She sighed. "I don't know. I just feel like something's got to give."

They were making plans for An to stay over in Sayoko's dorm one night when An noticed her team getting ready to line up on the court. "Gotta go," she said quickly. "You're staying for the whole thing, right?"

"I am," Sayoko acknowledged, "but for right now… I'm just gonna go get a drink. I'll be right back." Though she didn't come out and say it, she wasn't actually trying to hide it from An, either, not with that flimsy excuse: she was going to look for Niou, whom An had noticed wasn't with his team, and whom she knew to have been in a foul mood the entire past week.

_Don't, _An wanted to say. _You're better off just forgetting about him. You should be free of all that now. Just let him go._

But she knew Sayoko wouldn't, and it was Sayoko's decision to make.

That much, An had accepted.

"All right," she replied. "Hydration is important. Make sure you come back in time to see me win!" On that note she ran over to her team, taking her place in the lineup. Today's match against Fukuoka would determine who was moving on to the Kantou final eight, though of course the losing team could still play for a consolation spot.

There was no doubt in anyone's mind who that team would be. Or, rather, who that team _wouldn't _be.

Still, as An and her teammates bowed to the girls across the net, she observed that they were all in better shape than any team they'd played in the past, and weren't giggling and chattering the way most everyone else did to mask their anxiety when faced with Rikkai. These girls were looking right back at them.

It actually made An a little appreciative of being in Singles Three, and thus getting to play. It looked like she would have a good match today.

"You totally gave bitch-face to the girl you shook hands with," noted Kirihara as An exited the court. He, like the rest of his team, was standing along the fence.

"I did not," said An calmly. "That was my normal expression."

"Bullshit," he snorted. "Your normal expression is a cross between a toucan and a deranged fairy." And then, before she could reply: "Yukimura-buchou's little sister—"

"Her name," An cut him off, "is Sayoko. Yukimura Sayoko."

She expected him to snap back, but he said only, "Calling her Yukimura feels weird, and like hell am I gonna call her Sayoko. _Any_way, does she actually like it there? At Hyotei?"

"She seems to," said An cautiously. On the court, Watanabe and Fujimaru were getting into position for Doubles Two. "Why?"

"I just don't understand," he shrugged. "I mean, you figure she's got it made, right, going to a school her brother runs. Why would she give that up?" An might have pointed out all the damage it had, in fact, done to Sayoko's self-esteem, but Kirihara kept talking, mostly to himself. "Still," he mused. "Took nerve, I guess. To transfer to Hyotei of all places."

At the look on An's face, he finally did snap. "What? Don't look at me like that. I respect guts, that's all."

She turned away before he could see her smile grow bigger, knowing it would only make him more defensive and less likely to ever say anything positive about Sayoko ever again. Kirihara Akaya wanted people to see his skill, his toughness, his confidence: not the decency she knew lurked beneath all that.

~x~

Sohma Tsukushi was not having a good day.

"Please," she said, struggling to get the word out, "please, I really just need you to leave me alone—my match will be starting soon, I have to get back to my team—"

"That's your problem, isn't it," said the guy shortly. "And _this_," he gestured to his phone, which lay on the ground, a single hairline crack tracing its way across the screen, "is your problem too, seeing as you ran into me and made me drop it." He shook her a little, his hand a manacle around her upper arm. "Now, girl. What are you going to do about all these problems you've caused? Huh?"

"Please let go of me," she whispered, head bowed and long red hair tumbling around her face. Tears gathered in her eyes. _I'm going to miss my match, _she thought numbly. _I can't miss my match. Nomura-buchou, she'll be so disappointed… I'll let everyone down, they'll say they never should have let a first-year be a starter in the first place… they'll drop me from the regulars__… _I blew it, I blew it…  


"Hey, you," barked the guy, and Sohma jerked her head—only to realize he wasn't talking to her. He was looking past her, and, twisting around in his grip, she saw at who.

Yukimura Sayoko was watching.

Yukimura Sayoko, whom all of Hyotei was talking about. Yukimura Sayoko, who all of a sudden had become a member of student council. Yukimura Sayoko, who was supposedly involved with _Atobe Keigo_.

Yukimura Sayoko, whose expression registered disdain of the scene unfolding before her, but whose posture indicated she was thinking about just walking away anyway.

Until the guy pointed at her and said, "Hey, I'm _talking _to you. What are you looking at? I don't like that look on your face."

Then her posture changed. She shifted from being poised to pass by to squarely facing the guy, her black heeled boots planted firmly on the sidewalk. "And here," she said in cool voice, "I'd made it my life's ambition to adopt an expression pleasing to the delicate aesthetic tastes of bullies and idiots. To have it be found unsuitable by someone who's part of both demographics_…_" She lifted a shoulder in an elegant shrug. "Pity, that."

"_Watch_," he said through gritted teeth, "your attitude, little girl."

"Or else what?" she wanted to know, her steps smooth and unhurried as she approached him. "You'll beat me up, is that it?"

"Luckily for you," he ground out, "I would never hit a girl."

"Luckily for me," she smiled. That smile made Sohma think of poisonous creatures whose bright, beautiful colors advertised their deadliness. "I really am fortunate, aren't I, to run across someone who will grab a girl and shake her, but won't _hit_ her." Her smile widened. Sohma winced. "You, sir, are a paragon of virtue. I can only hope that future generations will be so noble."

"What did I _say _about your _attitude—_"

"Attitude?" Her smile disappeared as she assumed a look of wide-eyed innocence. "I'm not making fun of you. I honestly think you should give speeches to elementary school students. I mean, you have all this wisdom, all these _values_… you should share them." The smile bloomed again. "Seriously, you should write a book."

Finally the guy released Sohma, but only so he could raise that fist in the air as he advanced on Sayoko. Sohma gasped, but Sayoko didn't move a muscle. "_Watch_," he snarled in her face, "your back. I might not be so gracious twice." Snatching up his phone, he stalked off.

Only then did the tension visibly drain from Sayoko's shoulders. She tugged at the long pendant hanging from her neck, her gaze downcast. "Thank you," Sohma told her softly, though she had to repeat herself twice more before the older girl heard her.

"I'm sorry, what?" said Sayoko distantly, before: "Oh, right. It's whatever." She pointed to Sohma's uniform. "Shouldn't you be somewhere right now?"

Before Sohma could reply, Sayoko froze, her gaze on something over Sohma's shoulder. Her lips parted, formed a word_—_a name?_—_Sohma couldn't make out. Turning, she saw a boy, all silver and ice, dressed in Rikkai's uniform. _Niou Masaharu, _she realized from having seen him play. Someone had once described him to her as the most frightening player on Rikkai's team.

Given whom he was competing with for that title, that was saying something.

She wanted to thank Sayoko again, actually make the other girl understand how grateful she was, but she _had _to get to her match, and…

And by the look on her face, Sayoko was already long gone.

With one last glance at her, Sohma turned and sprinted toward the Hyotei girls' court, her tennis bag crashing against her legs with every step.

~x~

He was just watching her. Just watching her, his chin dipped low, his eyes hooded. Expressionless. Nothing. No recognition, no acknowledgment of what they had been_—_of what they _were _to each other.

_I love you, and you care about me, _Sayoko thought at him fiercely, despite the way her heart was trying to smash its way free of her rib-cage. _That's the truth. Don't go looking at me like it isn't._

Had he seen that confrontation with that guy? She swallowed. Probably at least part of it.

_"_Niou-senpai…" At first she could hardly make herself move toward him, but as soon as she started she had to restrain herself from running to him. It had only been a week, but she _ached _to touch him, to twine her arms around his neck and bury her face in his throat and tell him about Hyotei, about _everything_: how she missed him, how she loved him, didn't he know how much she loved him?

Because it seemed like he had no recollection.

_It's an act, _she reminded herself, stopping right before him, peering up into his face. The space between them was raw electricity. _He's just hiding everything. He'll let it go. _

"I'm sorry," she told him softly. "Niou-senpai, I'm so sorry I left without saying anything to you. It's just… I wouldn't have been able to. To leave. If I'd had to say goodbye to Oniisan and An _and _to you. It was too much. I couldn't do it. So I'm sorry. I'm sorry I hurt your feelings."

At that, the faintest smirk traced its way across his lips. Amusement at the idea that she could _hurt his feelings_. That he had feelings to hurt.

"Stop it," she told him, though her voice was small. "I understand that you're angry about it and you're trying to get back at me. Well you know what? It worked. I feel terrible. Okay? You win. So can you just _stop_?"

He tilted his head. Said, "I'm not doing anything."

"You can't trick me, Niou-senpai. I know you're upset and so you're acting like you don't care." Gathering her courage, she moved closer, and when he didn't draw back, she wound her arms around his torso, laying her cheek against his chest. Immediately, his spearmint scent made her relax. _Safe, _it told her. _Safe. No one can hurt you now._

"Niou-senpai," she murmured into the fabric of his jersey. "I really am sorry. You know that. I didn't want to leave you. You know that." She looked up at him. Said simply, "I love you." _You know that._

Because it was true. It was true and it was _real_, a living thing that breathed and pulsed, a voice that pointed out to her the patterns in stars and the poetry of two a.m., three a.m., four five six, I love you I love you it's six forty-two a.m. and do you know that I love you?

She just kept looking up at him. Looking and looking, waiting for him to relent just a little, maybe not to fully return her embrace but at least stroke her hair, flick her forehead, drawl _Sweetheart_, something, _something_, until finally, with a rising sense of panic, she realized… nothing.

Nothing. He was looking down at her with a sort of vast, scorching _nothing _in his eyes.

That wasn't how her Niou-senpai looked at her. It was how he looked at other people.

And it was the worst thing he could have done to her.

He could have at least glared at her, snapped at her, pushed her away, knocked her _down. _Could have at least _reacted _to her in some way, shown anger or disdain or _something_, given her _something, _anything, _anything_.

But he didn't. He just stood there, and he let her hug him, and he looked down at her as if she were some insect he couldn't be bothered to brush off.

And Sayoko thought:

_I…_

_Can't…_

_Breathe._

She let her arms fall to her sides. Stepped away. Her lips parted but she couldn't form words, couldn't find words for how shocked she felt, how betrayed, how _hurt it hurts it hurts I don't understand why are you doing this you're hurting me you're hurting me Niou-senpai I love you I love you you're hurting me I love you you're hurting me you're hurting me__—_

"This," she said, and swallowed. "This… isn't… fair. You're the one… who wanted me to be stronger. To make my own decisions. To stand up… for myself. And now… you're punishing me… for doing that?"

He just looked at her.

So she told him the only thing she suspected could hurt him even a fraction as much as he'd hurt her.

Softly, she said, "You really are like him."

Takada Shouta. Somewhere, he was laughing.

She took her heart, and she walked away.

~x~

"They're an excellent pair," Yukimura commented as Watanabe and Fujimaru took the first set at 6 - 1. Though he was speaking of both of them, Marui noticed his gaze exclusively followed Watanabe, who seemed to be very deliberately not looking toward the sidelines.

"Jackal and I could take 'em," he said casually, but really he was thinking: _Do you just not notice, or not _care_? That she's infatuated with you and always has been, even when you were dating her best friend. _And then: _What would Okada Kaori think of the way you've been behaving? _

He might have pursued that line of thinking further, but just then Sayoko reappeared. Marui brightened—he'd actually missed her rather acutely—but only momentarily, for though Sayoko's expression was perfectly smooth, there was something beneath the surface, a bruise that hadn't yet formed but would soon blossom across her face in a riot of colors describing how and how _badly _she'd been hurt.

She looked too sad and shocked to cry.

He moved out of her way so that she could continue the beeline she was making for her brother. When she wordlessly attached herself to his side, pressing her face to his chest, Yukimura automatically put an arm around her, but his glance was directed first at Yanagi, to his right, then at Marui, to his left. That look was a lead bar in Marui's stomach.

This would not improve Yukimura's already fraying mood. Not one bit.

_Goddamn you, Niou, _he thought bitterly. _The one girl in the world who knows you, and loves you even in spite of that, and you have to go shred her heart into confetti._

An, standing with Shimizu, glanced over. Seeing the way Sayoko was clinging to Yukimura like a lifeline, she exhaled softly, though she didn't seem surprised at all. Shimizu looked over as well, considered the Yukimura siblings, then met Marui's eyes. He mouthed to her, _Can I join the girls' team instead?_

Smiling a little, she shook her head, mouthing back, _Too many of my teammates are prettier than me as it is._

One such teammate was Watanabe, who, exiting the court after a 6 - 2 victory in the second set, faltered just the slightest bit at the sight of the Yukimura siblings, her lips parting. Fujimaru just shook her head and walked past, her slate-gray eyes unreadable.

Distantly Marui realized Rikkai was cheering. At this point in his career, it was white noise to him.

Picking up a pale yellow racquet, Takamiya entered the court. If she hadn't been both taller than him and completely unappreciative of his (or anyone else's) advances, he probably would have let himself be smitten with her warm murmuring voice and exquisite red-brown hair. As it was, he just let himself admire the way she walked and the way she completely wiped the court with her opponents.

Fuyumi, seated on the coach's bench, grabbed her racquet as well, though she didn't look as prepared as her partner. She'd clearly had more trouble waking up today than she usually did. Which was saying something—from Shimizu's stories, exaggerated though they usually were, the girls' placid captain could sleep in such a way to rival Hyotei's Akutagawa.

_Better wake up, _thought Marui skeptically. _Those Fukuoka girls have quite the look in their eyes._

He could already tell Fukuoka's Doubles One pair was far better than their Doubles Two. Then again, so was Rikkai's.

It was about time for his second breakfast, which he'd forgotten to pack, meaning he'd have to buy some overpriced greasy garbage from a concessions stand. He went to grab money from his tennis bag, which was lying on the ground with the rest of the team's, unguarded. No one would dare steal from Rikkai.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. A year ago a girl had been caught rummaging through Kirihara's bag, and had admitted to wanting to find the type of curl mousse he used. Marui had burst out laughing so hard that Kirihara had unleashed his wrath on _him_, not the girl. Which didn't seem terribly fair.

As he straightened, he noticed out of the corner of his eye that Niou was lounging against a tree some distance away from the court, his arms crossed loosely and his legs stretched out before him. _No one, _thought Marui crossly, _who causes this much trouble gets to look that goddamned nonchalant._

"Oi," he called, striding over to his most aloof teammate, "do you remember what I said to you?"

Without turning toward him, Niou replied, "High fructose corn syrup is an important part of a balanced diet?"

Marui was very, very much unamused. "I _told _you," he jabbed a finger at Niou, "to be nice to Sayoko-chan. Or something like that, anyway. Way back when at the training camp. Remember?"

"How could I forget? I cherish every moment we spend together."

"This isn't a _joke_, you bastard," Marui snapped, tearing a hand through his hair. "What are you even _thinking_? Picking Sayoko-chan up all the time just so you can knock her down ever harder? She doesn't _deserve _that. And you," he shook his head slowly, "you don't deserve how much she loves you. You don't deserve her love _period_."

"Have I ever," asked Niou impassively, "_claimed _to deserve anything of the sort?"

"You're just mad your precious little _sweetheart _up and left you." When Niou didn't deny it, Marui shook his head once more, though this time with resignation more than anything else. "At some point she's going to get fed up," he said quietly, and then, thinking of the look on her face: "Maybe even now. Maybe whatever you just did to her was the last straw. Have you ever thought of that? That she might stop loving you?"

Niou smiled a little, and said bleakly, "Sayoko will always love me."

There was no smugness in the statement, nothing sly or cocky. Just dead-certainty and something… something a little like wonder, and a lot like despair.

Marui wasn't sure what he would have said to that, had a scream not just rent the air.

Without a backwards glance, he turned and ran back to the court, his first thought, irrationally, being _Tsubame-chan_.

But it wasn't Shimizu. Takamiya had screamed, Takamiya whose head was in her hands as she sank to her knees before Fuyumi.

Fuyumi, who lay curled by the net like a wounded animal, her limbs all tucked in save for her right leg, which was splayed out at horrifying angle, an angle as unnatural and _wrong _as that of Kirihara's Knuckle Serve. People were staring, staring and talking, the noise mounting and mounting, and others were running over to the court to see what all the commotion was about, _and this was not what a Rikkai match was supposed to be_.

Marui almost threw up.

As paramedics rushed onto the court and began easing her onto a stretcher, he looked, automatically, to Yukimura. His captain had gone still and pale, and the circle of his arm around his sister's shoulders was now clearly protective, as if she too were at risk of being hurt. She clutched at him as well, as if he'd collapse to the ground if she didn't hold him together.

Yanagi was ashen; Sanada, grim. Yagyuu was covering his mouth with one hand while beside him Jackal had turned halfway away. Kirihara had moved and had a hand outstretched toward An, though he didn't actually touch her, just stood like that for a moment before letting it drop to his side and become a fist.

An was hugging herself, her head down.

But he couldn't worry about her right now. "Tsubame-chan," he called, pushing through the throngs of yellow-clad teenagers, "Tsubame-chan." He strode right up to Shimizu, put his hands on her arms. "Hey," he said to her quietly, "hey, hey. Look at me, yeah? Just look at me. Hey."

She looked at him, but he almost wished she hadn't. Her face was blank, her body stiff. He doubted she would have felt it if he'd kicked her in the stomach.

"What happened?" he asked her, gently as he could. "What happened to Fuyumi?"

It was Watanabe who replied. "She was up at the net." He didn't think he'd ever heard anyone speak so stiffly. "She was tired, and her reflexes were terrible, and she got hit right in the face by the opponent's volley." Her voice wavered just slightly. "It sent her reeling, and her foot got caught in the net. She tried…" She swallowed. "She panicked. She tried to yank it out."

_We play tennis, _thought Marui miserably. _People shouldn't get hurt like this in tennis._

The paramedics carried Fuyumi off the court and to the ambulance that was always waiting at tournaments. She lay silently on the stretcher, her face paper-white, her limbs arranged as meticulously as a doll's. An approaching official murmured to Shimizu, "You girls can take all the time you need to regroup," before returning to the umpire's chair and announcing, "Rikkai Dai forfeits Doubles One to Fukuoka."

Fukuoka, Marui saw, did not seem terribly upset about the way they'd won.

"Stop crying," said Watanabe quietly. Only then did he realize Takamiya had stumbled off the court to join them, unshed tears gathering in her eyes. She didn't seem to hear Watanabe; she was looking at Shimizu. They all were.

Marui let her go, stepped back. _Get it together, Tsubame-chan, _he bade her silently. _This is all you now._

But Shimizu didn't say a word. Just stood there. Stood there and did not move a muscle.

Watanabe broke the silence with "I _told _you to stop crying, Miaka." Takamiya's tears had spilled from her warm brown eyes to trace their way silently down her heart-shaped face.

"Just calm down, Chouko," Katsuragi muttered, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

"Shimizu-fukubuchou," said An, her voice surprisingly even. She'd raised her head, approached her vice-captain. "Shimizu-fukubuchou, are you okay?"

Shimizu did not reply.

And then: "I told you to _stop_," Watanabe snarled, her pale slim hand flashing out and cracking Takamiya hard across the face. "Rikkai," she said vehemently, "does not _cry_."

Takamiya just stared at her, one hand coming up to hover over but not touch the red welt blooming on her cheek.

Then everything fell apart. "Would you just fucking _get a grip on yourself_?" Katsuragi screamed, her pale green eyes burning burning _burning _in a way that was so _unlike_ her. Fujimaru began punching her racquet, over and over and over again, while beside her Nakajima Tsukiko, by far the quietest of the regulars, clapped her hands over her ears and whimpered.

"Why can't you ever just let anything _go_?" Katsuragi continued to rant, her voice piercing the silence that had fallen over the court. "Why do you always have to get angry? _Why do you have to care so fucking much about goddamned everything?_"

"Because I'm the only one of us not afraid to _show _it, Mikuzu," Watanabe hissed.

Before Katsuragi could rage on further, An cut in with, "Both of you knock it _off_." Though her hands trembled, her voice was steady and sure. "I am going," she said calmly, "to play Singles Three, and I am going to win. And you, Katsuragi-senpai," she pointed, "you're going to play Singles Two, and you're going to win as well. And then we all," she lifted her chin, "are going to go see Fuyumi-buchou in the hospital." She sucked in a breath. "Okay?"

Silence was her only answer, but apparently it was all the answer she needed. Picking up her racquet, she walked out onto the court and stood there as two hundred-plus onlookers stared. Her expression said, _Let's just do this already. I shouldn't have to wait to win._

In the end, Rikkai won.

(Losing was not permitted.)

* * *

This chapter was supposed to go on, but it was getting prettyyyy lengthy, and I need to keep your guys' expectations low. So. Until next time.

Also, "the language of queens" from chapter two is from this, which I adore:

"All women speak two languages:  
the language of men  
and the language of silent suffering.  
Some women speak a third,  
the language of queens."  
― Mohja Kahf, _E-mails from Scheherazad_

Feminism for the winnnnn. (As anyone who follows me on tumblr knows, haha. Tumble tumble tumble tumble)

Disclaimer: I do not own _Prince of Tennis_, or Gotye's "Somebody That I Used to Know" (lyrics at the top).


	4. Both Got a Million Bad Habits to Kick

Author's Note: So many characters aughhhhh what's happeninggggg who am I who are you what is thissss

* * *

**Kick Drum Hearts**

_(__But you still hide away_

___The anger of angels_

_Who won't return)_

"I…" Sayoko shook her head. "I just… the Huns. The Huns have invaded."

"I doubt Atobe would appreciate your likening his team to Huns," murmured her brother. "Shouldn't you have been expecting this? Hyotei _is _your school now, after all, Sayoko." The slight edge to his voice was the prick of a spindle on a spinning wheel, not enough to kill her but to make her shut down, sleep, sleep, don't say anything, don't speak. Shut down.

She pulled at the pendant hanging from her neck. It was actually an old pocketwatch she'd found in a consignment store and hung from a long chain. Running her fingers over its smooth worn surface, she said quietly, "I haven't attended any of their practices, and not nearly this many people came to the exhibition match. There must be at least—"

"Three hundred and seventy-five players," supplied Yanagi. "There would be more, but they had to cap team membership there, so as soon as someone drops out, thirty people begin fighting for his place."

"I'm sure Hyotei's stamp-collecting club rivals them for popularity," said An, but her heart clearly wasn't in it. Once they'd won their match, her teammate, Takamiya, had said Fuyumi actually wouldn't appreciate everyone going to see her just yet—and the doctors were doubtlessly still working on her, anyway. The rest of the team had scattered, but once the Rikkai boys had won as well, An had said she wanted to accompany them to see Hyotei play.

Sayoko knew she just didn't want to return to an empty apartment and spend the rest of the day reflecting on the loss of her captain.

Nobody was coming back after an injury like that.

Instinctively, she drew closer to her brother, who asked quietly, "Are you all right?"

Sayoko was gutted. She was gutted and drained and split open down the middle, so that everyone could see her heart, red and raw, meat for a wolf. Her reckless, treacherous heart that still had the audacity to love the winter-cold boy who'd looked at her as if she were nothing. Nothing to him. Nothing at all.

That it had been for show didn't matter.

She thought, _I am not nothing. I will not be treated like nothing._

She said, "I'm all right."

~x~

"Looks like we have visitors," Oshitari said lowly, his thin lips quirking. He inclined his head toward the procession of teenagers, their Rikkai uniforms stark and attention-stealing, taking their seats in the stands. People made room for them the way you would for _shinigami_, death gods.

"A swarm of yellow-jackets, ready to sting," observed Kato Akemi. Her smile was secret and sly; her eyes were dark as paint.

"They are Rikkai Dai, yes?" inquired Hayley LeGrande, an exchange student from Hyotei's Seattle-based sister school, in her halting, overly formal Japanese. "The reigning champions?"

"Don't gratify them by even bringing that up," Mukahi sniffed.

Sohma Tsukushi, looking up at Rikkai, smiled, and tugged at her captain's sleeve, pointing. "Nomura-buchou, look! That's Yukimura Sayoko. The girl I told you about? Who helped me earlier?" Sayoko sat between the Child of God and a slim chestnut-haired girl.

Before Nomura Sana could reply, Shishido snorted. "Well would ya look at that, Atobe. Your girlfriend came to watch you play. Aren't you even going to acknowledge her?"

Atobe didn't take his eyes off the court, where Ootori was making short work of Singles Three. He said neutrally, "For me to play, Ootori would have to lose this match, and Oshitari the next. Have you really so little faith in your teammates, Shishido? Ootori would be crushed." Shishido scowled and made to retort, but before he could, Atobe asked Nomura: "Won't you be playing Rikkai next? In the Kantou quarterfinals?"

Nomura sighed, rubbing her broad shoulders. "Yes. That Fuyumi's suddenly been hurt is…"

"Isn't that a _good _thing?" Mukahi shrugged. "Fuyumi Akari—I've seen her play. The girl's a monster. As it is, you'll have your hands full with that blond chick. Shimizu."

Nomura didn't reply. Sohma, twisting a lock of long red hair 'round and 'round her hands, watched her captain anxiously. She knew Nomura had a lot of respect for Rikkai's captain, even viewed her as a rival despite having never played her (given that Fuyumi always played doubles), and did not want anyone to be able to say that Hyotei only beat them because Fuyumi wasn't playing. But…

"With Fuyumi out of the picture," the vice-captain, Yamaguchi Kaiyo, said smugly, "we'll crush them." Anticipation and certainty lit her violet eyes. "Rikkai won't stand a chance."

Given that she'd voiced what they were all thinking, no one said anything else for a moment.

~x~

Hyotei's Ootori, whom Sayoko had noticed at school given his princely status and his sheer _height_, beat a Yamabuki player at 6 - 0, 6 - 0 to close out Singles Three and with it, the match. Both teams filed out to shake hands, and she was just standing to leave—

When Atobe stepped onto the court.

She'd thought the cheers and chants he'd garnered at the exhibition match overwhelming, but they paled in comparison to those generated for a real match, even one he hadn't _played _in. Save for their Rikkai-dominated section, the stands had _erupted _as her schoolmates yelled and stomped their feet and clapped their hands and Atobe wasn't even _conducting _any of this, what was going _on_?

These were the same people she went to school with, the people who wore crisp uniforms and performed in recitals and turned every passing encounter in the hallway into a politically charged power struggle. People who, generally, were composed and confident, superior and self-assured.

She couldn't reconcile those people with the ones now all around her, deafening her, shocking her with their fervor, their mass _hysteria_.

_Who are you, Atobe Keigo? _she wondered. _To inspire this in people._

When she pictured him he appeared to her as he had all week: a boy who would stroll into the student council room, pause to banter with her for a moment, then disappear into his office. Could that boy really be the same "Atobe-sama" whom her schoolmates were losing their minds over? She studied his faint smirk, his settle-down hand gestures that had the absolute opposite effect (and were clearly _meant _to).

_Atobe Keigo, _she thought again. His planted feet and set shoulders said _Give me the world or I'll take it myself. _

And it occurred to her, then, how cavalierly she treated him, how freely she spoke to him. She paid him his dues as an upperclassman, but that was it. More than once he'd noted with amusement the attitude she copped with him. Glancing around her, she bit her lip. Should she… rethink how she behaved with him?

Considering he could literally turn the whole school against her with a snap of his fingers.

But _would _he ever do that?

Recalling the softness that occasionally crept into his gaze, she rather doubted it.

~x~

"Are you sure?" Yukimura asked, his eyebrows drawn together.

"Yeah," An smiled. She'd always been good at smiling. Just show your teeth, crinkle your eyes. It's not that hard. Anyone can do it. Everyone should do it. "It's so nice out, I figure I'll just hang out around here for a while."

The Yukimura siblings shared a glance, and she knew they were both reflecting on the truth: that An didn't want to go home, not after today. She also knew neither would call her on it.

Still smiling, she said, "Seriously, you two go ahead—I know you'll want to spend the afternoon with your parents, Sayoko. And Wimble," she added brightly. "Give your demon beast my regards."

"Wimble is an angelic, noble creature, strong of character and pure of heart," Sayoko countered. "Like a unicorn." Though she didn't bother to return An's smile, her expression was uncharacteristically sweet and warm, like honey. It was a sort of empathy that was just distant and unobtrusive enough that An appreciated it without balking.

Yukimura considered An a moment longer, before touching her shoulder. "Very well. Let me know when you do get home, won't you? And good job today. You did well." She knew he meant on more than just her Singles Three win, and she also knew he was worried about her.

_Worry about yourself, _she thought. _Worry about the environment. Worry about poverty and disease and a whole bunch of other things before worrying about me. _

Because while she was sad, and while she was shaken, and while she was apprehensive about the future of her team… she still felt what she had before, when she'd stepped in and quelled the storm generated by her teammates' helplessness and hurt. Something steady and solid, anchoring her, focusing her attention and aligning her priorities. Something that addressed the problem at hand with the ultimate goal—the only possible outcome—in mind:

Rikkai must always win.

With the end result already determined (set in stone and written in red and audible in every beat of her heart, swing of her racquet, _win win win fifteen-love thirty-love forty-love game set match win_), figuring out how to achieve it became that much easier.

Wandering around the tournament grounds after the Yukimuras' departure, she wondered when she'd so internalized Rikkai's creed. It had always been a mantra, but suddenly it was Gospel.

"Contemplating the meaning of life, are you?"

Somehow she wasn't surprised that Atobe had appeared to walk beside her—she'd noticed he hadn't left—though that he was _sans _entourage, unaccompanied even by Kabaji, gave her a moment of pause. "Mm," was all she said, and waited for him to say whatever it was that had motivated him to follow her.

Her non-response didn't throw him. "It is a shame," he said neutrally. "About Fuyumi Akari. Especially considering you'll be playing us in the next round. Have you thought about that?"

The prospect had been lurking unbidden in the back of her mind. They had only a week to rebuild a team strong enough to defeat Hyotei, doubtlessly the second-best girls' team in the nation. Recalling how frighteningly _blank _Shimizu had still looked even once she and Marui had departed after the Rikkai boys' win, she winced.

"We'll beat you," he said quietly, without sympathy or smugness. "You might not accept that, but you know it nonetheless."

"I know," said An, just as quietly, "that losing isn't permitted. Rikkai must always win." She lifted her chin. "We'll win." _Somehow, somehow, it will happen somehow. I'm not praying for a miracle. I'm praying for a _win_. _She smiled a little. "Is this the part where you remind me of the bet we made?"

"Silly of you to bring that up—what if I'd forgotten?" he inquired, smirking. "You could have been home-free."

She rolled her eyes. As if there were even a remote possibility that he would have forgotten. Looking at him sideways, she recalled the boy who'd grabbed her by the arm all those years ago, tried to _force _her to go out with him. He was still just as arrogant, and, she suspected, felt just as entitled to getting what he wanted when he wanted it.

He just conducted himself differently, now. _Atobe Keigo, _she thought, and smiled a little. _Of all of us, why does it seem you're the only one who's matured?_

At length she said, "Tell me about Sayoko. She really is doing all right at Hyotei?"

He smiled in a way she couldn't interpret. Said, "I wouldn't worry about Yukimura Sayoko."

~x~

"Chouko, it's all right," Takamiya Miaka murmured the next afternoon. "You don't have to apologize."

"But I do," said Watanabe softly. "I am so, so sorry, Miaka. I had no right to behave like that. I lost my temper. I lost control of myself. I shouldn't have hit you. I can't believe I hit you. You, of all people."

"You were right." Takamiya hugged her arms loosely to her chest, imperceptibly fingering her hipbones, then her ribs, not prominent, not jutting through her skin, but there, easy to find, a known geography, a comfortingly familiar landscape. _There are my hips. There are my ribs. Here's my heart. _"You were right," she said again. "Rikkai doesn't cry. _I'm _the one who lost control. I just…"

She thought of Fuyumi's look of shock and pain when that ball had caught her in the face, her look of panic when she'd gotten her foot tangled in the net. The audible _snap _as she'd wrenched her body away but her leg had stayed caught.

_We were the best doubles team in the nation, _she thought bitterly. _The best. _But no longer. The best didn't get carried off the court in stretchers.

She only shook her head, and Watanabe did not press her. They walked to the locker-room in silence, and as they did Takamiya watched as Watanabe's expression changed, as it always did when anything involving tennis loomed. Her eyes went from expressive to watchful, her mouth from smiling to straight. Takamiya had never determined what caused it, and had never seen a reason to ask.

Everyone had things better left alone, better left unsaid, better left locked up somewhere dark and safe.

Sometimes, reflecting on Rikkai's boys' and girls' teams both, Takamiya pondered what it took to make champions. She hadn't been able to devise any exact formula, but some ingredients seemed near-universal: secrets and shadows and sacrifices and sometimes smiles, and sometimes those smiles were made of all those other ingredients mixed together.

Normally the locker-room rang with chatter and laughter, but not today. Fuyumi's absence was a hole made even bigger by Shimizu's absence of energy and authority—she didn't speak to a soul, though she had sent out a text the evening before saying they would be practicing with the boys for a few days.

As if Takamiya could have felt _worse _about the whole situation.

At the boys' tennis complex, they simply fell in with the guys running laps. It was natural enough; the teams practiced together not often, but not seldom, either. What was disconcerting was that it was clear Yukimura alone was running the show, whereas in the past Fuyumi or Shimizu had issued instructions right alongside him.

When everyone finished warming up, Shimizu didn't even bother to stand up at the front with Yukimura, instead kept to the back, Marui by her side.

After dismissing everyone else to various drills, Yukimura considered the regulars standing before him. "Yanagi will be observing and critiquing the following practice matches I have in mind," he said. He was, Takamiya thought, too pretty by half, and pretty so, so often meant _cruel_. That she'd never seen or known of him doing anything explicitly cruel made her all the more suspicious.

She knew very few nice boys, and he wasn't among them. Not by a long shot.

His gaze lingered on each of them, and she knew she was only imagining that it paused over her. _Don't look at me, _she thought, fighting a rising sense of panic, _don't look at me don't look just leave me alone why are you being so _mean _don't look at me don't _look—

"Shimizu and Niou versus Yagyuu and Katsuragi," Yukimura said, and Takamiya might have been the only one to see Katsuragi's mouth tighten. Though Tachibana glanced at her as well. "Marui and Nakajima versus Fujimaru and Kirihara." Now it was Fujimaru's turn to scowl. "As for singles, Tachibana versus Jackal, Sanada versus Takamiya, and myself versus Watanabe."

_There are my hips, and there are my ribs, and here's my heart, _thought Takamiya dimly, nauseously. _Here's my heart, and it's about to stop._

~x~

"You may want," said Yagyuu pleasantly, "to aim for Niou-kun's backhand. He rather despises hitting it."

"Thanks for the tip," Katsuragi muttered. Being on the same side of the net as him was, perversely, even more nerve-wracking than being on the opposite. Facing down Niou was bad enough. His mood was even worse now than it had been last week. Just glancing at him made her feel like a little girl in a red cloak who'd wandered too far off the path, too far, too far, don't you see those teeth gleaming in the shadows?

_Better, _she thought grimly, _to show your pointed teeth than to conceal them. _She looked askance at Yagyuu.

He tilted his head, all polite concern. "Is something the matter, Katsuragi-chan?"

"The matter," Niou cut in flatly, "is that you're a distraction, Yagyuu. Try turning around. Better yet, drop off the face of the earth. That _would _make you feel better, wouldn't it, Katsuragi?" He smirked. "Or is it me you'd rather see gone? Please, share. This is a safe space."

For the second time in as many days, Katsuragi lost her temper. "Speaking of people dropping off the earth," she snapped, "where's your little Barbie doll, huh? Did she get sick of your shit too?"

His expression didn't change, but his eyes slit her throat.

Yet it was Yagyuu who said sharply, "Katsuragi-chan, that is _quite_ enough."

She couldn't speak—it honestly felt like her throat was torn, blood spilling out, red like a cloak, watch out for those _teeth_—so she looked to Shimizu, who didn't take shit from anyone and could always be counted on to defend her team. But that was _Shimizu_, not this gray ghost of a girl watching despondently. That ghost said only, dully, "Let's just play already."

Feeling attacked and betrayed by every single other person on the court, Katsuragi stalked to the baseline, threw the ball in the air, and served like it had the power to _fix _something.

But of course it didn't.

~x~

Akaya was _not _happy with the match arrangements. He hated doubles to begin with, but it was made even worse by the people he was with. Across the net, Marui was wholly distracted, glancing over at Shimizu's court every five seconds, while his partner, Nakajima, kept quiet and avoided eye-contact with anyone. She'd been the one to clap her hands over her ears when her teammates had started arguing at the match yesterday.

The idea of trying to block out the world was so foreign to him that he regarded her much as he would an alien, or at least someone from like, Hokkaido.

Meanwhile, on his own side of the net, he could literally _feel _the hostility radiating off Fujimaru in waves. An had told him she still begrudged him his victory over her—what_ever_—and he saw now that was clearly the case.

"Listen," he said crossly as she stole yet another shot from him, "I don't give a damn that you don't like me, but if you get in my way again I swear to God I'll—" He noticed, then, her knuckles, covered in thick scabs that had cracked and were now bleeding, staining her already dirty white grip-tape.

He recalled the way she'd punched her racquet strings the day before, over and over and over over over, her face a tight scrunched-up mask of furious, furious helplessness and despair.

"What?" she demanded. "You'll _what_?" Her slate-gray eyes stood out stark against her dark face._  
_

"Just serve the ball already," he said dismissively, brushing past her. "Don't have all damn day."

When she took another shot meant for him, he didn't say anything, just silently got into position for the next point.

~x~

Watanabe was unsurprised when Tachibana broke off her own match with Jackal to intrude on hers against Yukimura. "Yukimura-senpai," she called from the sideline, "I'm sorry to interrupt, but could I talk to you for a second?"

Yukimura, having just won a game, glanced at Watanabe. "This is as good a time for a break as any, don't you suppose?"

She lifted a shoulder in an elegant shrug. _You have such lovely shoulders, Chouko, _her mother said often and with pride, _make sure to keep them back, darling, keep them straight. That's right, head up, stomach in. Good girl. _"Take all the time you need."

Sitting down on a bench and taking a small sip of water, she watched as Yukimura went over to Tachibana, his expression warming as it usually did when he spoke to her. Everyone knew Tachibana had hurled herself into his affections and good graces with all the force of an oncoming bullet-train. This was partly by virtue of being his sister's best friend, but largely—

Largely, it just seemed to be a knack of hers.

Watanabe told herself she wasn't bitter, but the thought was black coffee, strong and scorching, and she just couldn't choke it down.

Straining to hear, she caught what Tachibana said: "Yukimura-senpai, I really think—it's just, I noticed Takamiya-senpai really seems to be freaking out, you know? Playing against Sanada-senpai. And I mean, against boys in general, really. So I was thinking—could she just play against me instead? And Sanada-senpai could play Jackal-senpai?"

His voice was light. "Are you just tired of not being able to get a shot past Jackal's defense?"

Hers was quiet. "You know that's not it. Look at her, senpai. She's miserable."

Indeed, Takamiya was red all the way up to her hairline, her body rigid, her movement erratic. Watanabe doubted she'd won a single point. Across the net, Sanada's expression was shadowed by his cap.

"I see that," Yukimura replied evenly, "but she'll have to get over it eventually. Allowing her to shirk situations she doesn't like won't make her a better player."

"This isn't any sort of situation she'll ever have to be placed in, though, not really," Tachibana countered. If Watanabe had been closer, she suspected she might have heard her voice waver. "She won't ever have to play a boy in a tournament. Please, senpai, can't I just play her instead?"

Watanabe raised her eyebrows. _How exactly do __you have the nerve __to question Yukimura Seiichi's decisions? _

"I rarely do things without reason, An. The results of that match-up may surprise you."

"I just—"

"Finish your match," he said, more gently than Watanabe thought he would have. More gently than he'd ever spoken to Watanabe herself. "You don't have to worry. I promise everything will turn out fine."

As Tachibana did as bidden—because what else could she _do_?—Watanabe shook her head to herself. That Yukimura had let her get even that far in challenging his authority was astounding, though in the end he'd spoken to her as he would to a child. _Who on this earth, _Watanabe wondered, _do you see as your equal, Yukimura Seiichi?_

His shadow fell across her, and acutely she felt the presence of him and the absence of the sun, though the two very much canceled each other out. "And what do you think, Watanabe-chan?" he asked.

She knew he wouldn't buy for a second that she hadn't been eavesdropping. "I think," she said slowly, "that Tachibana is right," and swiftly rose to her feet and stepped back on the court before he could reply, before she could regret it. She hadn't challenged him, only given her opinion when asked, and—and it had felt good. She'd handled it pretty well, she thought.

Though Kaori would have handled it better.

~x~

It took all of fifteen minutes for Takamiya to lose the first set to Sanada.

She sat on the bench with a towel over her head, though the sweat that coated her face and hair was from nerves, not physical exertion. _I can't do this, I can't, oh God, I can't, somebody get me out of here, just let me leave, I didn't sign up for this, I didn't, oh God, I just—  
_

"Takamiya," said Sanada, his voice too loud too close too _close_, and with a start she ripped the towel away to see him standing over her. Impassively he asked, "Are you ready for the next set?"

_Do I _look_ like I'm ready? _she wanted to snap. But she couldn't remember the last time she'd snapped at _anyone_, much less Sanada Genichirou. More than she wanted to snap at him, she wanted to get _away _from him. Nodding once, tensely, she threw herself to her feet, hurried to her side of the court. He stood as he had been a moment longer, before getting into position as well.

Boys in general made Takamiya miserably uncomfortable, and boys like Sanada Genichirou made her want to hurl herself off a cliff. Not that she'd ever met another boy quite like Sanada Genichirou. Her mother would have called him an _old soul_, with his reserved demeanor and inflexible nature and blazing gold-amber eyes.

Truth be told, the only person she could really compare Sanada to was the second-year, Kirihara Akaya. They were similar not on the surface but in the ways that mattered, in the ways that hit home. There was something in them both that burned hot and wild and _fierce_, but where Kirihara let this rage as a wildfire Sanada restrained and honed it with ruthless discipline.

She found the latter far more frightening.

He served, hard and fast and right to the corner. He wasn't going easy on her. It was an excellent serve but she was an excellent _player_, she was _not _outmatched, which made it all the more frustrating when her returned sailed not just out of bounds but out of the court, out of the boys' tennis center. Sanada turned to watch as the ball disappeared from sight, a first-year chasing after it.

She couldn't stand it anymore. "I'm _trying, _okay?" she snapped defensively, her face burning and oh, God, now her eyes were as well. She would _not _cry. Rikkai did not cry. "I _am_."

He looked at her and was silent for a moment. It wasn't a pause, it was just… he was slow to react, Sanada was. Slow to acknowledge the actions or will of another person. _Immovable as the mountain. _He said finally, "I know."

_No, _she thought bitterly, _no, you don't._

She lost the next set before most other people had even finished their first.

~x~

Kabaji liked Yukimura Sayoko a lot.

She had blue eyes just like Atobe did, though where his were dark and deep hers were bright and sweet as the frosting on the pre-made birthday cakes you bought from the store, the ones they'd write your name on so you still felt special. When Sayoko looked at him, Kabaji felt special. Atobe could do that, too.

She'd seemed really sad today, so he'd invited her to come to the clubhouse and see his collection of glass-bottle ships, which she'd expressed interest in before. He was hoping the ships would make her smile. When Sayoko smiled it was a little like someone had woven the stars together.

The regulars were practicing their serves on courts one and two when Sayoko approached, meaning student council had just let out. Atobe only attended on Wednesdays. "Kabaji-kun," she called, with a serene self-possession that at once acknowledged and completely disregarded the attention she'd garnered from the team and their onlookers both. She offered Hiyoshi a small wave. "Hi, Hiyoshi-kun."

"Hi," their classmate said shortly.

"And hello to you too, Atobe-senpai," she said before Atobe could interject. "I'd wanted to greet you first, but was so overcome by your presence that I had to work up to it." She raised her eyebrows. "Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"Haven't all those Russian fairytales taught you," he inquired wryly, "the dangers of being a pretty girl with an impudent manner?"

"Do you intend to roast me and eat me? I hadn't thought a chicken-legged hut was quite your style."

He pointed at her. "I wouldn't go walking into any dark forests if I were you, Yukimura Sayoko." He was, Kabaji could tell, enjoying himself.

"This is cute," said Shishido in a tone that said it was anything but, "but speaking as the voice of reason, as per usual," Oshitari and Atobe both smirked, "is no one else suspicious that she's spying on us for that brother of hers?"

"Wrong move," Hiyoshi murmured, too quietly for anybody but Kabaji, standing beside him, to hear. One corner of his mouth was quirked up.

Sayoko didn't disappoint. "Oh, she is. Isn't it obvious? My brother had me transfer schools _just_ so I could be a spy. That's how intimidated he is. Not just by Hyotei at large, but by _you _specifically. Hadn't you known?" She leveled a look at Shishido.

To everyone's surprise, he didn't blow up at her. Instead, after a moment of narrow-eyed consideration, he turned to Atobe and said simply, "I approve, I guess. Might even bother to attend the wedding. Bahamas, right?"

"Greece," Atobe replied, but his gaze, full of laughter and anticipation, was on Sayoko, who said simultaneously, flatly, "You _approve _of me." Where before she'd been casually baiting him, now she seemed genuinely irritated. Kabaji didn't blame her, but Shishido seemed thrown.

"Well," he said, frowning. "Well, sort of. It's a _good _thing, isn't it?" He shrugged. "You're welcome."

Sayoko smiled. This smile was less like stars and more like sparks thrown by a live wire. "Thank you. That you approve of my existence—the honor is almost too much. I've been waiting for this day my whole life. I've always dreamed of the moment some boy wearing a backwards baseball cap would validate my very being. You should—"

"Yukimura-chan," drawled Oshitari wryly, "you'll have to forgive Shishido. He's simply unaccustomed to people who object to his brash manner and poorly expressed thoughts. Over time you'll come to find him endearing, sort of like a homely, badly trained puppy."

Her expression closed, Sayoko eyed Oshitari wordlessly as Shishido snarled insults at him. Then she turned back to Kabaji, who looked to Atobe, whose permission he'd asked to miss a bit of practice to show Sayoko his collection. Atobe inclined his head, said loftily, "Return within half an hour, Kabaji."

"Yes." Stepping off the court, Kabaji led Sayoko into the clubhouse before she could unleash her sharp tongue on anyone else. He wondered if she got into verbal sparring matches with all her brother's teammates as well.

"This isn't a clubhouse," said Sayoko upon stepping inside, "this is—" She shook her head, looked around at the rows upon rows upon rows of enormous lockers, each large enough to fit an entire person comfortably and each marked with the player's ranking: 1 through 375. "This is one of those spaceships that carries people in like induced comas or whatever to populate new planets. You know?"

Kabaji smiled a little, and Sayoko smiled back. He liked that she interpreted his silences without pressuring him to speak, and could carry on a whole conversation with him like that, just as Atobe did. Kabaji had grown up in England with Atobe, and upon coming to Japan had been very self-conscious of his accent. He'd simply fallen into the habit of staying silent, of letting Atobe do the talking, and it had stuck with him to this day.

Opening his locker, he took down the five glass-bottle ships he kept on the top shelf, waited anxiously for her reaction. "Kabaji-kun," she breathed, gingerly picking up the one in the blue bottle and peering at it, "these are incredible. You made these all by yourself?" When he nodded, warm pride blooming in his chest, she smiled a little sadly, ran her fingers over the ship she held.

"That really is amazing. I'm jealous, you know? I can't make anything. My brother, he paints and he gardens. He makes things, and makes things grow. It's something I've always wanted to do—become a creator instead of a consumer." She laughed self-consciously. "That sounds pretentious. I just… I don't know. Instead of always using other people's ideas and creations… I want to contribute my own."

She shrugged, looked down. "Whatever the hell those contributions may be, I guess."

Silently, patiently, Kabaji waited for her to look back up, and when finally she did, he smiled at her.

She smiled back, and this time that smile was the first hour of dawn, the first light switched on in a world just beginning to wake up, wake up, wake up.

~x~

"Hello?"

Watanabe smiled, as she always did when she heard her best friend's voice. "Kaori, hi. Did I wake you? You sound sleepy."

"No," came the dreamy reply, "I'm just painting. What's up, Chouko?"

Watanabe bit her lip. "I know this is sudden, but are you free to meet up this weekend? Like get coffee or something? I just… I really need to talk to you." She swallowed, added softly (softly, softly, be gentle, don't hurt anyone, someone's going to get hurt, someone always gets hurt), "It's about Yukimura-kun."

* * *

Have you read _Deathless _by Catherynne Valente? I just. Adfasdgdg. I want to be able to write like thattttt

Also, any songs that go along with this story? I need inspiration. Again, again, alwayssss

Disclaimer: I do not own _Prince of Tennis_, or Vertical Horizon's "Everything You Want" (lyrics at the top).


	5. And We'll Never Be Royals

Author's Note: Sooo if I told you a specific thing was going to happen in this chapter, I probably lied. I don't know what's going on anymore.

* * *

**Kick Drum Hearts**

_(When she was just a girl_

_She expected the world_

_But it flew away from her reach)_

"A moment," said Yagyuu to Katsuragi as she made to hurry past him. Practice had ended, and nearly everyone else had already gone, but Katsuragi had lingered—most likely to avoid a confrontation such as this. _You should have left with the rest of your teammates __instead of staying behind all alone. It will be dark out soon enough._

Which meant he was obligated to walk her home. As if he weren't already investing enough of his time in this.

"Katsuragi-chan," he said, noting how she shifted on her feet like a cornered animal. He'd always known something simmered beneath her smooth waters, but recently it had become all too evident. Then again, she had just lost her captain.

He could empathize with that.

"Katsuragi-chan," he said again, only a touch more gently. "I know you think I treated you harshly today, and I apologize if I hurt your feelings."

"'I apologize,'" she said quietly, "doesn't mean 'I'm sorry,' does it? Doesn't mean 'I feel bad' or 'I regret it.' Not with you."

_Clever girl, _he thought with some amusement, _but _how _clever? How long have you been watching me, Katsuragi Mikuzu? __Watching while pretending not to be interested in anything at all? _"What you need to understand," he said, and here his voice dropped, became firm, "is that though it's admirable of you to bite back instead of meekly baring your throat to Niou-kun, it's not in your or anyone else's best interest to use Yukimura Sayoko against him. Do you understand?"

She regarded him silently. She wanted to bite back _now_, he saw, wanted to tell him exactly what she thought of his seemingly high-handed advice. Her gaze was an oxygen-starved flame, her mouth an unlit match.

And that was all right. That was, actually, _interesting_. But that was a matter for another time: the one at hand was pressing. He'd have to explain further.

"I am aware Niou-kun is, at present, lashing out at anyone that so much as breathes in a way he doesn't like," said Yagyuu frankly. "And I understand the impulse to defend yourself. But I'm sure _you _understand that this isn't his typical behavior. Despite his rough, casual manner, he's not an overtly aggressive person."

"_Overtly,_" she echoed flatly, just loud enough to be heard.

Her contumacy was less charming when made a trend. "Katsuragi-chan," he said once more, and stepped closer. Looked down at her. "You don't realize how trying a time this is for Niou-kun. Sayoko-chan's departure is doubly damning for him: there's the effect of her leaving as well as the effect of her _absence_. They're different beasts entirely."

Clearly she didn't understand what he meant by that, and he wasn't inclined to go into further detail. Dwelling too much on Sayoko meant delving too deeply into Niou's mind, into things that were private and raw and choking, choking, choking. So much of Niou's behavior was just him desperately clawing for air.

Just because Yagyuu could become Niou didn't mean he wanted to feel Niou's pain.

Yet that was inevitable where Sayoko was concerned. Niou was so _angry _at himself, angry for not anticipating what she would do, angry that he was angry instead of happy for her.

"This is the sort of thing I'd wanted for her all along," he'd told Yagyuu tonelessly some days ago. "For her to stand up for herself, get away from here, away from her brother. I'd just never thought… I thought I would be the one to help her do it. I thought she would need me." He'd smiled thinly. "Though that defeats the purpose of her standing up for herself, doesn't it."

To his credit, Niou had never explicitly claimed not to be hypocritical.

He was angrier still for what he saw as his failure to protect her. He'd told Yagyuu about the Kirigaoka player, Takada Shouta. "She's scared of him, Yagyuu," he'd said. "She's scared, and she should be. He'll eat her alive." He'd bared his teeth in a silent snarl. "I knew he was out there, knew he'd fixate on her if he ever encountered her, and I didn't do anything about it. Not a damn thing. And now—

"She's just so fucking _scared_, and it's _killing _me."

In addition to being angry, Niou was hurt. He was _hurt_, and that hardly needed to be expounded upon.

But that was all just the effect of Sayoko leaving. The effect of her absence… well, that could only be explained by the effect of her _presence_. Sayoko's presence, as a general trend, softened Niou, revealed a boy who would make up myths, appealed to the part of him that needed to be needed.

Some people, like Sanada, just needed to be needed on the whole. Others, like Niou, needed to be needed by a very select few, and left alone by all the rest.

That she'd been so suddenly ripped away from him had been enormously destabilizing. Niou didn't know what to do with himself anymore. The time and attention he'd devoted to caring for Sayoko he now employed in devastating others. And, as had been the case on Sunday, among those "others" had been Sayoko herself.

As paramedics had rushed onto the court to tend to Fuyumi, Yagyuu had covered his mouth and turned away, gone to where he knew Niou would be lingering back behind everyone else. He'd seen, as they all had, how cripplingly sad Sayoko had been when she'd reappeared. Knew what must have happened, though still he'd asked Niou silently with his eyes.

Niou had said dully, "I wanted to hurt her. So I did." He'd looked down at his hands as if he'd actually used them to strike her. "She told me I'm like him. Like Takada."

_Niou Masaharu, _Yagyuu had thought wearily, _you are so gifted at assessing others from a distance. When will you take a step back and see how you're ruining your own life?__  
_

Though he was rather sure Niou knew exactly what he was doing, and was simply unable to stop himself.

Presently Katsuragi said, "Fine, all right, I will never again mention his one true love or whatever." She narrowed her eyes. "Just don't pretend like you're trying to do me some huge favor by inspiring me to avoid his wrath. You don't actually care. You wouldn't bat an eyelash if he killed me and dumped my body in the river. You'd just help him cover it up."

She said, "Tell me otherwise. Lie to me, Yagyuu Hiroshi. I dare you."

He considered her. Her words were tough, but a slight tremor shook her voice, her hands, her shoulders. _A lava girl, _he thought, _molten beneath the surface. _If her mouth were truly an unlit match, he wondered what it would be like when lit. What it would taste like.

He said evenly, "I never lie, Katsuragi Mikuzu."

~x~

Ikeda had told Atobe that Sayoko drank green tea, so he now kept a box of it in his office alongside his own black tea. Periodically she'd wander in and make herself some, and while doing so would comment on whatever he happened to be working on at the time. This time, he was eating his lunch while reviewing his macroeconomics notes.

"Are you a vegetarian? You're always eating either tofu or tempeh, never meat."

"I eat meat on special occasions," he replied, underlining a key term. "But given the toll the meat industry takes on the environment, I try to minimize my consumption of animal products." She glanced skeptically at his genuine leather chair, and he smirked. "The chair is inherited from my grandfather. This desk as well. To reuse is the height of sustainability."

"The very _height_," she echoed, smiling wryly. "Naturally." Letting her tea steep, she asked, "One side of your family is British, isn't it?"

"My mother's family traces their roots back to English nobility, yes." He considered her over his own cup of tea. "You're rather interested in my life," he observed. "Could it be there's some merit to the rumors circulating about us after all?"

"Making casual inquiries into another person's life does equate to undying love, you're right. Unfortunately that means you'll have to share my affections with every other person I've ever spoken to for more than five minutes."

She spoke lightly of love, but for over a month the word out of Rikkai had been that she was involved with Niou Masaharu. Which was… intriguing. "That leaves me with quite a lot of rivals, doesn't it," he noted, his tone offhand but his gaze direct as he considered her. "Competing with Marui, Yanagi, Yagyuu, Sanada… Niou…"

Her expression didn't change, but her eyes nearly made him draw breath.

_Sadness _was the first word that came to mind, but sadness couldn't encompass it. It was something gaping and exquisite and profound that he saw just a brief glimpse of, something he couldn't find a word for in any of the languages he knew, not in English or Japanese or Greek or German. It was love, he knew, but not any kind of love he'd ever want to experience himself.

"But that's silly of me," he said softly, leaning forward to meet her downcast gaze. He didn't regret triggering that reaction—her response to even a mention of Niou's name was something he should be aware of—but he did still want to ameliorate whatever harm he'd done. "Silly to include Sanada in that list. I'll be surprised if you've spoken to him for a cumulative two minutes in all the time you've known him, let alone five."

Finally she met his eyes, and for a moment his only thought was, _Blue. Who knew heartbreak had a color?_

But then she smiled a little. Said, "At least three and a half. Most of that was him yelling at me for chasing a toad onto a court in the middle of a match a few years ago." At his raised eyebrows, she asked defensively, "What? I like toads. They're cute."

"They're homely," he countered, smiling, "homely and banal and terribly bourgeois."

"Did you honestly just call toads bourgeois? _Honestly_? What do you consider a noble creature, a porpoise?"

"Why?" He quirked a brow. "Do you chase porpoises onto tennis courts as well?"

"I am going to punch you in the face," she told him very seriously.

He smiled.

~x~

Half an hour later, Sayoko was struggling with her calculus assignment when Atobe emerged from his office. He came and looked over her shoulder, though he kept his body angled in such a way that there was no risk their arms could accidentally brush. Distantly it occurred to her that not once had he ever touched her, save for when he'd kissed her at the exhibition match.

No one at Hyotei touched her, actually. She was still _other_, still something to be sorted into the social order before people knew how to treat her. It made her feel a little strange, especially when she recalled An's spontaneous hugs, her brother's hand on her shoulder, Yanagi's pats to her head.

And Niou. Niou's hands in her hair, on her waist. His mouth by her ear, on her lips, moving down her throat—

"You forgot a negative sign."

She turned to peer up at him, eyebrows raised. "Did you sense that from your office? Is that why you came out here?" It was rare for him to up and abandon whatever he was working on. One thing she'd learned was that above all else, Atobe Keigo was busy.

"Actually," he replied, characteristically unperturbed, "I came to remind you about student council mixer this Friday. Ai told you about it, did she not?"

It took her a moment to realize he was talking about Ikeda, the vice-president. She hadn't known they were on a given-name basis. "She did," Sayoko acknowledged. "You might know that if you stayed for more than the first half-hour of every meeting. Or came to more than one out of three meetings per week."

"One day, Yukimura Sayoko," he said easily, "my vast tolerance for your impertinence will run dry, and then you might regret that mouth of yours." Somehow, without changing his tone or expression at all, he added a great weight to his words, heavy as solid gold. _Do not forget who you're speaking to._

Quietly she said, "I never asked for special treatment."

"Don't you realize," he began, only to cut himself off as he regarded her, a peculiar sort of laughter in his eyes. Already she'd grown accustomed to his silent laughter, and normally she balked at it, but this time she just blinked up at him, waiting for him to finish his thought.

But he moved on. "Ai tells me you've already made valuable contributions to the council."

She straightened, brightened. "Ikeda-senpai said that?" She admired the older girl terribly. Ikeda somehow managed to be an overwhelmingly effective leader while remaining warm and personable, remarkably easy to approach. She'd treated Sayoko as a welcome new addition to the council, and so most everyone else had as well.

"She did. Meanwhile," he went on, "Hiyoshi tells me you still won't deign to engage with with your classmates or anyone else who approaches you."

She would have rolled one hip out to the side if she'd been standing. As it was, she crossed her arms. "Do you have people reporting on me to you all day? Did my dorm matron tell you that I tripped and fell flat on my face when I left my room this morning? Because apparently that's something you should be aware of."

He fixed her with a look. "Hyotei Academy has long had the culture it has, and will long after you've gone. You're not exempt just because you think it's silly or archaic." When she made to argue, he held up a hand and moved to re-enter his office, saying over his shoulder, "It's rather your duty anyway, isn't it? Given _noblesse oblige_."

She asked, "Excuse me?"_  
_

He paused. Said, "_Noblesse oblige _is a French term. 'Nobility obliges.' People who are superior are obligated to exercise that power and authority in an appropriate manner. It derives from—"

"I know what it means. What does it have to do with _me_?"

Turning fully toward her, one hand placed loosely in his pocket, Atobe said, "Not just with you, but with me. With Ai. With Oshitari. We are, effectively, nobility." Once again he held up a hand to cut her off. "There's a German phrase that means 'Nobility resides in the mind, not in the blood.' You are nobility like it or not, Yukimura-kun, and as such you have obligations to fulfill."

When she didn't say anything for a moment, he added thoughtfully, "People would look up to you, you know. If you'd let them. One thing Hyotei students know is to acknowledge those who are better than they are."

She asked, "… _Better?_"

"Of course," he replied, eyebrows drawn together. "Haven't you been listening to a word I've said?"

She shook her head slowly. Looked down. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm not _better _than anyone. If anything I'm…" _I'm worse, _she thought dismally. They were there, in the back of her mind, the bottom of her heart, the pit of her stomach. Those dark, sick, ugly feelings. _I will never forgive myself for how I treated my brother. Never, never, never._

When she finally looked back up she found Atobe was looking at her, his gaze terribly direct and unnervingly _earnest_. He said quietly, "You are exceptional, and I know because I am exceptional as well. Whether you believe it or not, you are better."

"What does that _mean_, better? Better at what? At breathing? Existing?" She shook her head again. "People are definitely better at _things_, at sports or academics or, I don't know, spelunking, but to just be _better_… I don't believe that. No one is just better, period."

"But you do believe that, don't you," he said, and goddamn she wished he would stop looking at her so _softly_. _You don't know me, _she thought fiercely, _don't you dare _look _at me like you do. _He went on, "You believe your brother is better than you are." Fractionally, he raised his eyebrows. "Isn't that true?"

She stared at him. "I… that's not…" She swallowed hard, counted to ten, _one two three stop looking at me like that four five don't tell me how I feel six seven you don't know how I feel eight nine ten who are you to know this about me, Atobe Keigo? Who are you? _She said finally, "That's different. My brother is literally better than me at everything."

He said frankly, "Bullshit."

The crass word was made even more impactful by his rolling, cultured tones, and for a moment she could only gape. Then, taking a sharp breath, she drew her knees up to her chest, wound her arms around them. Wished he would just go back into his office and leave her _alone__. _When he didn't, just stood there looking at her, she muttered, "You don't know what you're talking about. My brother…"

Her brother was blood and four a.m. and the space between heartbeats. He was everything. Everything that mattered.

She thought, _I am not nothing, but I am even further from being everything. _

She said finally, tiredly, "I'm not my brother."

Atobe always stood at his full height, but somehow he seemed taller just then, taller and so much _older _than her. Not a boy at all, but— "Do not tell me," he said calmly, "who you are not. I know who you're not." Slowly, he pointed a finger at her, aimed straight at her heart.

"If you're going to tell me anything, Yukimura Sayoko, tell me who you _are_."

~x~

Fujimaru Imari shook her head when she learned that the girls and boys would be practicing together again, for that meant Shimizu still did not feel up to leading the team in Fuyumi's place. _We will never, _she thought grimly, _beat Hyotei like this. _The thought was treason, but true nonetheless.

"What's our lineup for Sunday?" she asked Tachibana lowly as they jogged around the courts.

"… What?"

"Our lineup," said Fujimaru again, and when still the other girl looked confused: "You're basically running the show now, right? For all intents and purposes."

"That's not," Tachibana began, before falling silent. For it was true: Shimizu might as well have been replaced with a cardboard-cutout of herself for all the good she was, and all the other, older girls seemed too caught up with their own personal demons to step in and take over. Only Tachibana and Fujimaru herself seemed aware of the disaster their impending match could bring if they didn't immediately regroup.

And Fujimaru, as a second-year, did not see herself as having the right to direct the older girls.

But Tachibana, apparently, did. Two things she seemed to have in spades were self-confidence and audacity.

And why not? Easy to believe in and assert yourself when the world offered itself to you on a silver platter. How long did it take Tachibana to make the illustrious Yukimura siblings, renowned for placing themselves apart and above, card-carrying members of her fan club? To wrap irrepressible, volatile Kirihara Akaya around her little finger?

"You and Watanabe-senpai in Doubles One, I guess," said Tachibana finally, her voice steady and unstrained even as they began their fifteenth lap. "You're our only whole doubles pair left. And we can keep our singles lineup the same, and just put Nakajima-senpai and Takamiya-senpai in Doubles Two?" Before Fujimaru could reply, she shook her head.

"No," she said, more to herself than Fujimaru, "no, that doesn't make sense. Takamiya-senpai's a better singles player than me _or _Katsuragi-senpai. So we put her in Singles Two? And Katsuragi-senpai in Singles Three? And I guess… I guess me and Nakajima-senpai in Doubles Two…" She didn't sound thrilled about it.

Fujimaru remained silent, neither assenting nor dissenting, and, looking at her closely, Tachibana asked, "Does this mean you're warming up to me a little? I know I'm not your favorite person."

Fujimaru frowned. Wasn't it obvious? "Personal feelings don't matter right now," she said, shrugging. "If we don't work together, Hyotei will destroy us." _And I won't let Fuyumi-buchou down. I won't._

Tachibana didn't appear to know what to say to that.

Again Yukimura arranged practice matches. He was beautiful, thought Fujimaru noncommittally, beautiful like a holy place, like the Garden of Eden and the serpent it was home to. He pitted Fujimaru and Tachibana against Kirihara and Marui, and briefly she wondered what his intent was there, for the history and tension between Kirihara and Tachibana was palpable, and—

And, well, Fujimaru had sort of a small crush on Marui. That, she hoped (and was rather sure) was less evident, though you never knew what Yukimura chose (and chose not to) notice.

It didn't much matter, anyway, she reflected as they warmed up, trading volleys and groundstrokes. Only winning the Nationals undefeated was important, not a boy with a quick smile and quicker eyes, bright like a bird's, watching everything. Those eyes now seemed only to follow Shimizu as she wandered like a ghost, though he did spare Tachibana a fond glance, and had been known to give Takamiya lingering looks.

And, okay, that sort of stung a little, but a crush was a crush, and crushes faded. That Fujimaru had been waiting at least a year and a half for this one to fade was inconsequential.

None of them really spoke. Fujimaru was reticent by nature, Marui was on another planet, and Kirihara and Tachibana just kept looking at each other, then looking away quickly when the other glanced up. She really wished everybody could just take their feelings, crumble them up into little balls, and throw them away until practice was over. That would make things much easier._  
_

Approaching the net, she asked Kirihara, "Rough or smooth?" Both Marui and Tachibana lingered at their respective baselines, seemingly preoccupied in their own musings.

He glanced at the hand holding her racquet poised on the ground. White bandages already showing a little red were wound 'round her knuckles which would never heal properly until she stopped playing tennis everyday, meaning they wouldn't heal until tournament season ended. "Well?" she snapped, his gaze making her feel uncomfortable and resentful. "Which one?"

"Rough," he replied, uncharacteristically calm, and sure enough, it was. "I'll serve first."

She tossed him a ball, and, catching it, he said, "Hey." When she narrowed her eyes at him, he threw the ball up, caught it, threw it again. Said, "It sucks. Losing your captain." He shrugged, one shoulder coming up to brush a stray curl. He needed his hair cut. "Nobody should lose their captain."

This small demonstration of empathy was unexpected, and _almost _touching for that, but— "Funny sentiment coming from you, isn't it." She tipped her head back toward Tachibana. "Considering what you did to _her _brother."

He gave Tachibana a long look, and Fujimaru didn't turn to see if Tachibana was looking back. He said, "She already forgave me for that." Lazily he asked Fujimaru, "What is it _you _find so hard about forgiveness?"

He turned and walked away from the net without waiting for her to answer.

~x~

Yukimura had elected not to participate in the matches but instead observe with Yanagi. Jackal appeared to be going incredibly easy on Shimizu, which was acceptable. Jackal's judgment was as steady and dependable as every other aspect of his character, and Yukimura knew the other boy, through Marui, had a decent grasp on how Shimizu should be treated until she regained her composure.

Yukimura, on the other hand, despite having known Shimizu for years, had never been able to get a particularly good read on her, though truthfully he'd never invested much in the effort. She was terribly interesting, but he preferred to let her remain a riddle of a girl. Sometimes it was more fun that way.

As they approached the second court, Yanagi said simply, "Ah." Niou and Watanabe were playing what looked to be a game not of cat-and-mouse but of cat-and-cat, or perhaps mouse-and-mouse. There was something careful and stalking to the way each moved, yet where Niou was leaving room for an absent partner to stage a direct attack, Watanabe appeared reluctant to attack without a partner to defend the back-court.

Watanabe's focus was razor-sharp, completely engaged in the match, but when Yukimura and Yanagi appeared Niou allowed a shot to go past him, and then Watanabe looked up as well. Niou's pale eyes and Watanabe's dark ones both locked on to Yukimura's, and it was Niou's he chose to meet. The other boy was expressionless, yet there was a strange jut to his chin, bold and defensive all at once.

_Do you blame me? _Yukimura wanted to ask. _For whatever I've done to drive her away…_

Without breaking that gaze, Yukimura said, "Excellent form, Watanabe-chan." When she inclined her head, he continued walking.

Yanagi's steps naturally synchronized with his. "There is a seventy-two percent chance Niou will seek you out sometime this week."

Yukimura sighed, turning his head to the side. Niou could read lips. "I suspected as much. Would you care to take a page out of his own book and disguise yourself as me? Better yet, I'll disguise myself as you. He respects you more."

"Incorrect." _And you know it, _he seemed to add. Yanagi's amusement was discreet yet distinctive. "He appreciates my methods. But he's always valued you as a captain, a teammate, and even a friend, Seiichi."

Yukimura smiled thinly. "He values my little sister more."_  
_

"Potentially," Yanagi replied, and Yukimura turned on him in surprise.

"I was joking, Renji, or at least I thought I was." _Sayoko loves _him, _of course, but as for how Niou feels in return… _Distinctly he recalled the quiet, unwavering intensity in Niou's voice when he'd said, _If it concerns Sayoko getting hurt, it concerns me._

"What data I have on Niou and Sayoko-chan is entirely paradoxical." Yanagi was unruffled. "I'm afraid I can't offer you anything conclusive."

"Then what good are you to me?" asked Yukimura with equal measures wryness and fondness. They smiled at each other for a moment before moving on to the next court, which Yukimura took one look at before asking, "And what exactly is going on here?" He pointed to Katsuragi and Yagyuu, who were playing doubles with Sanada and Nakajima. The tension between them was solid as cement and hot as sunburn.

To be able to induce that in Yagyuu… clearly there was more to Katsuragi Mikuzu than she let on.

"Now that," said Yanagi with a particular sort of detached relish, "is something I've anticipated for a long time. It's just needed the proper circumstances—the instability of the female regulars in the wake of Fuyumi's hospitalization, and the increased time our two teams have spent practicing together—to develop."

"Ah," said Yukimura delicately, and left it at that. Yagyuu was typically a paragon of control, but once he let go, he _let go_. Normally Niou chose how and when to rein him back in… but was Niou inclined to do that when he himself was so clearly out-of-sorts?

_Problems within problems, _he thought wearily. _Peace, my kingdom for a moment of peace.__  
_

An, he saw, was playing a pretty decent game of doubles with Fujimaru. She was more accustomed to and comfortable with singles, that much was clear, but she had the potential to be an excellent doubles player if the right partner came along.

"Marui's neck must hurt," commented Yanagi lightly, "given how he swivels his head between his own match and Shimizu's every eleven-point-three seconds."

"I've asked him what he recommends should be done about her," sighed Yukimura. "He hasn't given me a straight answer."

"Perhaps there's none to be given."

"Perhaps," Yukimura agreed, though that was far from the sort of thing he was quick to accept. "Meanwhile, you've noticed too, haven't you? The unrest building among the sub-regulars. As far as I can tell it's only just begun, and I'm not sure what the cause is." Once he found out he would crush it immediately. Dissent among the ranks would not win them their third straight Nationals title.

Yanagi looked toward the far courts, where the sub-regulars were doing serving drills. "The two at the center of it are Arakaki Arata and Hagiwara Daichi," he said, naming the boys who'd been Kirihara's Doubles One pair when he'd been captain his third year of middle school. "We may want to see what Akaya thinks."

"Mm," said Yukimura, his gaze already moving on to the bounce-board by the clubhouse, where Takamiya was hitting forehand after impeccable forehand.

"I do believe," said Yanagi, tracking his shift of attention, "that I'll let you handle that on your own."

"You are," said Yukimura dryly, "a world of help." Though currently he meant it in jest, on the whole it was absolutely, unmistakably true. Yanagi Renji was his closest friend and confidant, without whom he would be lost. They both knew it, though luckily Yanagi had the grace never to remark on it.

Takamiya didn't turn toward him when he approached, though she did catch the ball she'd been hitting, plucking it out of the air with ease. Her reflexes were excellent, as was every other part of her game. He would have liked very much to play her, but knew to actually match himself up against her would be pointless. She wouldn't show even a _fraction _of her skill against him or any of his teammates.

He opened his mouth to speak, but she beat him to it. "It wasn't necessary to isolate me like a leper." She'd spoken too quietly for him to hear her tone, but her words made her feelings clear.

"I've hurt your feelings," he observed calmly. "That wasn't my intent. Please turn around and look at me, Takamiya-chan."

She did so slowly and with obvious reluctance, setting her racquet down and keeping her head ducked low. Even so, he could see the flush working its way up her neck. "I did not arrange a practice match for you," he began, "because though for your sake it would be best to confront whatever's troubling you so, that doesn't hold true for the sake of my own team. They'd get more out of hitting against a wall than playing against you."

It was a harsh truth he didn't try to soften, but it didn't make her flinch. Instead she finally looked up at him, her face red like her throat. But her eyes, he saw, were the color of black tea with a generous helping of milk and honey stirred in. She said nothing.

"Until Shimizu takes over, I will be quite involved with the workings of your team," he reminded her. "I have no desire to meddle with your team's composition, but neither will I let this time go to waste. So tell me: what shall I do about you, hmm?"

She glanced at him then away, her hands skimming over her torso in a curious pattern. He pressed, "What would make you relax? Who would you feel comfortable playing?"

Still she didn't reply, and, sighing, he stepped forward, offered, "What about me?" She froze, looked up at him. "Could you play me?"

"I…" She swallowed. "It's not that I… you don't have to…"

"Takamiya-chan." He came a single step nearer to her, intuiting exactly how close he could get before she'd bolt. Judging by the look on her face, he'd left no margin for error. In the soft voice he'd often used with Sayoko when she'd had a nightmare, he asked, "What would it take to make you trust me?"

She very clearly did not have an answer, but he hadn't expected her to. "Think about it," he bade. "Because you _can _trust me, you know. I'd like…" Faintly, he frowned. Thought, _Perhaps for once I can bring someone closer instead of driving them away. _"I would like to help you, if you'll let me.

"Think about it," he said again, and walked away.

* * *

I have a hellishhhhh few weeks ahead of me, so unless inspiration strikes, as it does when you guys give me all sorts of good ideas, I don't anticipate updating for a lil' while. So I thought I'd get this chapter up now. (:

Also, _speak now or forever hold your peace_: Preferred pairings. Go. I'm not saying this is going to be one of those stories where everybody ends up with someone, I'm just saying literally anything could happen at this point. Literally. We're talking Marui/Michelle Obama levels of "literally anything." (I would vote for Michelle Obama for queen. Just saying.)

Disclaimer: I do not own _Prince of Tennis_, or Coldplay's "Paradise" (lyrics at the top).


	6. That Slow-Burn Wait While It Gets Dark

Author's Note: Definitely skipped two classes yesterday to study for a third. I'm doing this college thing right, yeah?

* * *

**Kick Drum Hearts**

_(Another head aches_

_Another heart breaks_

_I'm so much older than I can take)_

Later that evening, Niou Asuka stood over her brother, and thought about nudging his arm with her tiny, sandal-clad foot, but didn't. "You weren't there for dinner. That defeats the purpose of me even coming over, you know? It's not like I show up so I can have deep, thought-provoking conversations with Mom and Dad. I contemplated putting a chopstick through my eye at least five times."

"Work up to eleven times," he replied blandly, "and _then _we'll talk."

Sighing, she settled down on the sand beside him, careful to leave at least two feet between them. Masaharu was very touchy about his personal space. She'd been that way too once, all teeth and sharp edges and _what __the hell are _you _looking at? _

_Is it because of me? _she wondered, not for the first time. _That my baby brother turned out like this?_

She'd been seven when he was born, an unusual age gap—but then, Masaharu hadn't exactly been intentional on her parents' part, something she'd thrown in his face at least once in the past. _Mom and Dad didn't want you, _she'd told him flatly. Had she been fourteen? _Not you, or Kaito either. You _get _that, don't you?_

He'd tilted his head, observed in a way that was so _unnerving _in a seven-year-old, _But Mom didn't want you, either. Did she?_

It was true. Their mother hadn't wanted to give up her career to raise a child, but she'd done it—the forsaking her career part, at least. As for raising Asuka, she'd left that to a succession of nannies while she'd spent her time anywhere but in their apartment.

"I used to think about running away, you know," she told him lightly as the sun sank lower into the water. "I got this idea in my head that I could steal Dad's credit card and hop a flight to Seoul, make a name for myself in Korean dramas. Ironic that I got _sent _away, huh? I guess no matter what, staying wasn't an option."

"Unless it's an obligation."

"Yes," she agreed sadly. "Yes, unless I'd felt obligated to stay." _But I didn't, did I? I didn't feel obligated to stay for you, the way you've always felt obligated to stay for Kaito. To take care of Kaito the way I never took care of you._

Masaharu had always been a terribly _sensitive _child. Sensitive to tone and body language because he picked up on them so easily, knew exactly when their mother would rather curl her hair than read to him. And he'd thrown fits whenever a crowd was too large or a restaurant too loud. _Asuka, _their mother had said often through her teeth, _just _do _something with him, won't you?_

And Asuka would grip his shoulder, lean down to mutter in his ear, _God, just get a _hold _of yourself, Masaharu. Can't you just pull yourself together for a single second? This is pathetic. Why do you always need people to take care of you?_

Susceptible to overstimulation herself, she hadn't bothered to empathize with him about just how overwhelming certain situations could be when you were so perceptive, when you couldn't help but be aware of _everything_, couldn't help but take it all in. She'd realized right off the bat how alike they were, and had resented him deeply for it. _She'd _never needed anyone to coddle her, so couldn't he just suck it up as well?

And he had. Very quickly Masaharu had learned to take care of himself, and when Kaito had been born when Asuka was eleven, she'd expected he'd learn the same lesson. Never had she anticipated that Masaharu would take it upon himself to look out for his little brother. He'd never doted, never been overtly warm or affectionate, but he'd _been there _for Kaito. Always.

_But Kaito's left now too, hasn't he?_ she thought heavily. _And your blue-eyed girl as well…_

"But you know," she added quietly, "I'd be a very different person if I hadn't left. Mom and Dad, for once, actually did me a favor in that regard. Getting out of here, getting out on my own… it was good for me. I needed it." She paused. "I know it's always easier to be the person who leaves than the person who's left behind, though. I get that." She asked, "Do you get that I had to leave, though?"

Tonelessly he replied, "Do you get that I don't need to be spoken down to?"

Caught wrong-footed, she could only smile. _There's no doubt we're related, is there. _Instead of apologizing, she just said, "Ma-sa-ha-ru," and cast her gaze skyward. Said finally, "I just want to say—and I'm not trying to talk down to you right now, I'm not, I just don't know how else to say this. It's just that I wish, when I'd been your age, younger than you, even, I wish…"

She thought of a girl with black hair and eyes like city lights. Thought of that girl backing away from her, shaking her head, _no, no, no_.

Then, glancing at him, she thought of another girl whose smile promised the sun.

"I wish I'd known how to let people go. And even more than that…" She looked at him, thought about touching his arm. Didn't. Said softly, "I wish I'd known you don't lose people by letting them go. You lose them by holding on too tight."

~x~

The next day, Ishii Emi considered the short lock of hair held between her fingers. Where before it had been electric blue, now it was just sort of a dismal blue-gray. She'd have to dye it before Sunday—she always liked to count how many heads turned when she arrived at a tournament with hair straight out of a box of crayons. Crayola ought to pay her for the publicity.

Nomura Sana walked in just then, and the regulars fell silent immediately. Ishii hopped off the desk she'd been sitting on and approached the podium. They were in the small lecture-style classroom used for the linguistics class she took. But now the screen, instead of offering information on phonemes, displayed a PowerPoint slide that read simply: RIKKAI DAI HIGH SCHOOL.

"Everybody ready?" she chirped, turning the lights off.

"Ready, Ishii-senpai," Sohma Tsukushi replied with a smile, and Ishii spared her a very fond glance. The first-year had been an excellent addition to their team, and not just because her serve could and _did _rival Atobe's… though Atobe had made a noise more closely associated with a strangled cat than an eighteen-year-old boy when Kato Akemi had needled him about it.

Ishii glanced at Kato, who sat in the back beside her doubles partner and the team's vice-captain, Yamaguchi Kaiyo. Kato's pointed chin was propped on one thin hand, her fine pale hair falling over her shoulder. "Anytime, Emi. The suspense is _killing_ me." Her voice was languid.

Ishii swept into a deep bow. "I live to serve." Straightening, she hit Forward on the remote she held. The screen flashed to a photo of a girl in a Rikkai uniform, poised to hit a backhand. Her long hair was tied back in a high, strict ponytail, her face angular, her eyes black as Kato's. "Watanabe Chouko. Third year, serve-and-volley player, almost guaranteed to be in Doubles Two. Hits an excellent one-handed backhand, and is fond of slicing both her groundstrokes and volleys."

"Weaknesses?" inquired Nomura calmly. She sat with her arms crossed loosely over her chest.

"Temper," said Ishii immediately.

Ogawa Kohana, one of their own Doubles Two players, leaned forward slightly. Said quietly, "That's right. Last year at Nationals I approached the umpire to challenge a call he'd made in Rikkai's favor. Watanabe almost looked like she was _shaking _with anger."

"Her partner's not as volatile," Ishii nodded, flipping to the next slide. This next girl was shorter and more sturdily built, some of her choppy black hair having escaped its tie to stick to her face and neck. In the photo she was mid-stride, running to return a shot with a look of grim determination on her deeply tanned face. "Fujimaru Imari. Second year, counterpuncher, Watanabe's Doubles Two partner. As for weaknesses…" She thought about it.

"She definitely has a temper as well, but I think it may actually work to her favor. She _harnesses _it well when she plays, and seems to have a steadying effect on Watanabe. They're well-matched." Then, flipping the remote up and catching it, Ishii hesitated. "As for Rikkai's Doubles One team… well, we all know what happened to Fuyumi Akari. I haven't bothered to include her in this presentation—she's out for the rest of the season. Without a doubt."

"Meaning her high school tennis career is over," Nomura sighed. "Can you imagine?"

"Save your sympathy for after we beat them, Sana," chided Yamaguchi, though her voice lacked most of its usual bite. Her creamy oval-shaped face almost glowed in the dim lighting.

"That's right," Ishii agreed. "They've still got Takamiya Miaka," she flipped to a picture of said girl, "who's nearly as frightening. Third year, all-rounder…" She shrugged. "We're all familiar with her—well, okay, not you, Hayley, sorry—"

"Me neither," said Sohma apologetically. She hadn't been playing tennis back when the third-years had been in middle school with her.

"—but what's going to be completely unfamiliar," Ishii continued, "is where she is in the lineup on Sunday." In the photo Takamiya was about to serve, her heart-shaped face turned toward the sky.

Yamaguchi asked, "Where do you anticipate she'll be?"

"Honestly, I'm not sure," Ishii had to admit, which rankled. "With Shimizu calling the shots now, it could be anywhere. So we move on to…" The next photo was of a girl whose flamboyantly pink hair clashed with her rather meek expression. "Nakajima Tsukiko. She's a third year, but that's pretty much all I have on her. She's almost always a reserve, though doubtlessly she's in the lineup now."

"Maybe," said Hayley LeGrande, her accent thick but intelligible, "she'll fill in for Fuyumi-san in Doubles One?" She suggested this around the lock of dark blond hair she was chewing on. Ishii still hadn't decided whether it was an American habit or a Hayley-habit.

"People aren't Legos," purred Kato in her typically cryptic way, while simultaneously Nomura said, in her typically straightforward way, "Doubles pairs can't just be thrown together at random. Not at this level. Not at Rikkai's level."

Ishii just moved on. "Then we get to their newest addition, Tachibana An." The girl who appeared onscreen was slim, but there was noticeable strength in the way she gripped her racquet. Something about her mouth suggested it was meant for smiling, but in the photo her expression was straight, her blue-gray eyes steely. She wasn't playing, just standing before the net, waiting.

"One of our scouts sent me this picture," Ishii told them. "It's from this past Sunday, the match where Fuyumi got hurt and they had to forfeit Doubles One. Tachibana's a second-year, and a transfer from Seigaku."

"From Seigaku to _Rikkai_?" echoed Sohma, blinking.

"And I thought _I_ went through culture-shock coming from Seattle to Tokyo," Hayley observed. She'd only been on the team a couple months, but had already caught on to the complicated, often fraught relations among the schools. Had already internalized what everyone else knew: Rikkai was different. Rikkai was _other_. Rikkai was, in most teams' minds, not just a rival but the enemy.

Place yourself on a pedestal and you're _asking _for others to knock you down.

Ishii just gave a grin and a shrug, and carried on. "She's an aggressive baseliner right now but it seems she's being coaxed—by Shimizu, I expect—to transition into being an all-rounder. So far this season she's mainly bounced back and forth between Singles Two and Three. Which means," she flipped to the next slide, "she and Katsuragi Mikuzu must be in an inter-ranking dogfight every week."

Katsuragi had long brown hair and pale green eyes; in the photo, her expression was remarkably neutral as she hit a forehand down the line. "Third year, and an aggressive baseliner as well. She's a familiar face—again, not to Hayley or Tsukushi, I'm sorry, okay—but I still don't have that much on her. She keeps her cards pretty close to her chest. The same cannot be said," she went to the last slide, "of Shimizu Tsubame."

Everyone just up just a little straighter.

"Brief rundown," said Ishii, shrugging. "Third year, all-rounder, undeniably the best singles player in the nation. Her first year of high school she was Singles Two, and ever since she's been Singles One." In the photo Shimizu's face was lit by an electric smile as she hit a winner past her opponent.

Her soft voice hard for just a single moment, Sohma asked quietly, "But will Rikkai be able to hold out until Singles One?"

There was no answer but Kato's laughter, slow and silky.

~x~

"I see," said Atobe, typing on his tablet. "And will that be all?"

"One more thing." Ikeda cast her gaze toward Sayoko. "Yukimura-chan? Would you share what we'd discussed a few days ago?"

"Of course," Sayoko murmured, standing and smoothing her skirt. Hands clasped behind her back, she addressed Atobe directly, trying to put the previous day's conversation out of her mind. "The intercultural education subcommittee has chosen Malaysia to be the focus of this month's culture festival."

"And why is that, Yukimura-kun?" he asked calmly, forming a steeple with his hands. "Why not Macedonia, or Libya? Why not Azerbaijan?"

_You're laughing at me, _she would have accused had they been alone. Would have said something sarcastic, or perhaps just cheeky. Instead she replied readily, "Given that Malaysia offers its own native Malay culture, as well as those of China and India, it seems an ideal choice." She threw him a dazzling smile. "You might say we're killing three birds with one stone."

"I might say that," he agreed, and goddamn she'd been _right_, there was laughter in his eyes, did no one else _notice _that? Or was it just that she was the only one he laughed at so much? It probably should have bothered her more than it did.

Only Ikeda seemed to notice too, for her voice was wry when she said, "Well, I _will _say it. I think Malaysia is an excellent choice, and so long as you've no objections, Atobe, we'll proceed with it." He nodded once, simply, and Ikeda motioned for Sayoko to sit.

She did so. Her admiration of Ikeda grew daily. The older girl was plain of face and plump of body, yet held herself with unmistakable grace and confidence. And, despite only being in section F of her year ("I'm no good at taking tests," she'd admitted to Sayoko some days ago, "they make me really anxious"), her intelligence was as apparent as her charisma.

She was also, Sayoko had learned, Atobe's ex-girlfriend. She hadn't explicitly been told this, but no matter where they were or what else they were doing, Hyotei students were talking about one another, and despite herself Sayoko sometimes could not help but overhear. She'd gathered that they'd dated very seriously all throughout their first year of high school and most of their second, before a mutually amicable breakup.

They'd definitely remained close: as president and vice-president of student council they sat beside each other (on the one day per week Atobe showed up, anyway) and often shared speaking looks. Sayoko wondered how they'd interacted when they'd been together.

"If that's it, then," said Atobe, placing his belongings in his satchel, "I'll be on my way." He had a tennis practice to run. Why wouldn't he just suck it up and appoint a vice-captain? Despite feeling little for Sanada on a personal level, she had a great appreciation for his support of her brother, and of course Yanagi's as well.

A chorus of goodbyes and "Thank you very much for attending"s rang out, which he acknowledge with a regal dip of his head, before turning toward the door. When he opened it, Yamaguchi Kaiyo, the official secretary, was revealed, her hand reaching for the knob.

"Ah, Atobe," she said smoothly, "it seems we'll be just missing each other. A pity."

"It is." Grandly he gestured for her to step inside, adding, "Though we'll see each other on Sunday, I'm sure." Yamaguchi was the girls' tennis team vice-captain. She was also dating Ootori Chotarou. (Sometimes Sayoko wondered how much she'd learn if she actively _tried _to listen to the gossip swirling around her.) The Hyotei girls would be playing Rikkai on Sunday.

Sayoko hoped An would be ready. She'd known from her very first council meeting that if she showed so much as a shred of weakness before Yamaguchi, the older girl would devour her raw, using her blood to paint her lips. So she'd made sure to match each of Yamaguchi's challenging stares with a diamond-hard smile, and suspected now they were on reasonably good terms.

She'd noticed that those at the very top, such as Atobe, Ikeda, and Yamaguchi, did not feel pressured to assert themselves or their authority over other people at every given opportunity, whereas those who had power but not as much as they wanted clawed for it every chance they got.

She looked askance at Fujita Ishiko, her own class representative.

As Atobe stepped out, he glanced over his shoulder just once, his eyes meeting Sayoko's. She couldn't read his expression, but vividly she recalled what he'd said to her the day before: _Tell me who you _are_._

And then he left.

Hands fisted in her lap (_God_, she wished she could bite her nails right now), she thought fiercely, _Who are you to say that to me? To tell me what to do? _But really, _really_ she was thinking… _I don't know. I don't know, I don't know, I don't know. How can I tell you when I don't know?__  
_

"I apologize for my tardiness," Yamaguchi said to the council at large, taking her seat on Ikeda's other side. "My team and I had something important to discuss. Please excuse me."

Ikeda spoke for them all. "Of course. We're all looking forward to another victory on Sunday."

Sayoko smiled distantly and looked out the window, southwest toward Yokohama, toward Tokyo Bay, toward home.

~x~

"… Are you sure?" asked Marui carefully.

Yukimura raised his eyebrows. "When have I ever not been sure?" His normally light, easy sense of humor came off a little forced, but Marui appreciated it nonetheless. "I'd already been considering this," he went on, "but An approached me this morning and convinced me of it. She's quite attached to Shimizu, you know."

"I know," said Marui, when he'd meant to feign offense, meant to say, _Hey, she's attached to me too. _But just like Yukimura, his heart wasn't in it. "Well, I guess—I guess I'll go get her, then. Thanks," he added, dipping his head. "Thank you, Yukimura."

He'd expected Yukimura to say something along the lines of _I'm allowing you to do this for Rikkai's three wins, boys' and girls', not for you, _but instead he just nodded and swept into the clubhouse to change for practice. Marui, still in his school uniform, hitched his bag over his shoulder and jogged over to the girls' clubhouse, hoping he'd catch Shimizu before she got changed as well.

"Ah, Fujimaru-chan," he called, spotting the younger girl just walking over from the school, "can you run in and grab Tsubame-chan for me?"

She started like a deer in headlights, gray eyes wide, before entering the clubhouse without a word. He was wondering if she'd actually do as he'd asked when a minute or so later, Shimizu came out. Standing in the doorway, she considered him a moment before asking, "What is it?"

"Yukimura's agreed to completely take over your team today," he said, as if Yukimura hadn't already been doing that in the first place, "if you wanna take the day off, skip practice, get outta here with me."

Her face registered nothing. "To go where?"

Marui regarded her. She could run farther and faster than him, could lift just as much and probably more than he could. She'd always been quicker to anger, with a strange but adamant sense of justice. She'd never hesitated to stand up for herself or for anyone she deemed worthy of it.

He recalled his first day of fourth grade, when, as soon as his mother had dropped him off and left, another child had asked bluntly, _Why is your mom in a _wheelchair_? What's _wrong _with her?_

He'd been trying not to cry when Shimizu had marched up and demanded of the other boy, _What's wrong with your _face_? _And then she'd punched him square in the jaw, said with great satisfaction as he tumbled to the ground, _Oh, it's my fist._

Marui had waited outside the principal's office for her that day, and had even offered to share his graham crackers with her. He didn't know if their friendship had started with her fist crashing into that other kid's face or with his own shyly uncurling around the snack he held out to her, but nevertheless it had begun.

He thought, _Let me be the strong one for once._

He said, "Anywhere."

~x~

"So definitely just hit it between them, yeah?" An asked. "Their teamwork is terrible."

"Ours isn't much better," Sanada said curtly, but he offered her a single, sharp nod. Kirihara and Watanabe made a lousy doubles pair; neither seemed inclined to really look at or speak to the other. When An's return of Kirihara's serve blazed right down the center of the court, Watanabe seemed to consider snapping at him, but apparently didn't care about the practice match enough. Instead she just sighed.

Kirihara, however, would be irate at not having even gotten his racquet on the ball. Sanada was preparing to tell him to quiet down when instead of scowling and snarling, Kirihara laughed. "Punk," he accused An, pointing his racquet at her. "You've been working on that forehand."

Apparently An hadn't expected that either, for instead of producing a quick retort of the sort Sanada closely associated with her, she just shifted her weight back and forth.

Sanada told Kirihara to quiet down anyway.

"Did you and Shimizu compare notes?" Watanabe asked him as they switched sides. Kirihara and An had both gone to get drinks from the water cooler, though they didn't appear to be speaking to each other. "On how best to bring up your respective protégés." He couldn't tell how serious she was.

"They'd be very different notes," said Sanada calmly. "And having been a classmate of Shimizu's in the past, I can firmly say her notes on most anything are largely useless."

Watanabe blinked once. Her mouth stayed perfectly straight, but her eyes lit with the strange rainbow-shine of oil on black asphalt. "Two years ago I got the flu and missed a whole week of class, and Shimizu gave me copies of all her notes." She shook her head ruefully. "I'd have been better off with no notes at all."

Sanada's mouth stayed equally straight. He neither knew nor cared if his eyes lit too.

Then Watanabe's attention returned to An and Kirihara. They still weren't speaking, yet seemed to be communicating all the same. Their body language spoke volumes, but in a dialect all their own, mostly unintelligible to others. "She really has an effect on him, doesn't she," noted Watanabe coolly. "And not just on him." As if by magnetism her gaze was pulled to Yukimura, who stood watching Fujimaru and Nakajima play Jackal and Yagyuu.

That particular magnetic draw affected her quite a lot, Sanada had noticed.

~x~

"Tsubame-chan…" Marui didn't look at her. "It's okay to cry, you know."

A number of people, over the years, had commented on how Shimizu didn't seem "the type of person" who cried. She thought that was pretty dumb. Everybody cried. Boys and girls, adults and children. She actually cried, she suspected, more than most people. She cried over sad books and songs and movies, cried when she read about North Korean prison camps, cried when she saw a homeless person out on the street on a cold winter night.

She'd bawled like a baby when Yukimura had gotten sick.

Marui knew all that about her, of course—she'd tear-and-snot-stained his shirt countless times. And he also knew, she could tell now, that she hadn't cried since Fuyumi's injury. Not once. She'd cried over _his _captain, but not hers. Because…

"Fuyumi didn't cry," she pointed out quietly, her legs dangling over the dock. They weren't at the ocean but rather the tiny, algae-crusted pond in their neighborhood park. "The bone was about to stab right through her skin, didn't you _see it—_" She made herself suck in a breath. "But she didn't cry. Rikkai doesn't cry, and with Fuyumi gone that means—that means that I—I—"

"You taking over the team doesn't mean that you have to be Rikkai all the time now." He put a hand on her head, roughed her hair up like you would a dog's. It was unbearably affectionate. "Hell, I don't think even _Yukimura _is Rikkai all the time."

She wondered if Yukimura had cried when he'd gotten the diagnosis. She knew that Marui, on at least one occasion, had cried for him.

"But Tsubame-chan…" The trees surrounding the pond blocked out the sun. Everything was damp and cool and black-green, save for Marui's terribly keen violet eyes. "Hyotei," he said. "You're going to _have _to be Rikkai on Sunday. You're going to have to give them something. You're going to have to give them everything."

Nomura Sana would be waiting for her in Singles One.

Shimizu stared down at the water, its murky surface providing a terribly distorted reflection. _Is that what she looks like? _she wondered. _The girl who's going to lead Rikkai undefeated to a National championship._

No. Because she _wasn't that girl. _That girl had always been Fuyumi. _Always. _What sort of a screwed-up word was "always" if it didn't mean "forever"?

Rikkai had lost its forever the moment Fuyumi had fallen.

Marui picked up a pebble and threw it into the center of the pond. It sank with a single, heavy sound. As if reading her mind he said, "It's your team now, Tsubame-chan. For better or for worse, it doesn't matter, it's yours. And I know it sucks and I know you deserve time to grieve but what you deserve isn't what your team _needs_. They need you to be there for them. They need you if they're going to win."

Firmly he added, "Rikkai must always win."

Someone else might have found that an insensitive thing to say, but Marui and Shimizu knew differently. When _Rikkai must always win _was your Gospel truth, it became a comforting thing to say, steadying, grounding. When someone was anxious about an upcoming match you didn't tell them to just do their best, to just have fun with it. You said, _Rikkai must always win._

And if that person was Rikkai, _truly _Rikkai, they understood. They understood, and it was all you needed to say.

_Rikkai must always win._

She told Marui that, repeated the phrase back to him like a prayer. Because it was, wasn't it? It was a prayer and a prophesy and a poem, a poem about blood and sweat and sacrifices, about running laps in freezing rain and practicing your serve so late into the night that you couldn't even see the ball, just had to trust your own toss and the clockwork motion of your body.

_Rikkai must always win. _

It was, she thought heavily, time to act like it.

~x~

"Yukimura-kun?" Takamiya kept her voice very soft, but he heard it over the chatter of the first-years as they rounded up the last of the tennis balls and began taking down the nets.

He'd been about to enter the boys' clubhouse, but turned to look at her, eyebrows raised. Yanagi, with a small, queer smile, went ahead in. "Yes, Takamiya-chan?"

It had taken her the entirety of practice to work up the courage to approach him, but now, standing before him, her anxiety abated. She wasn't sure what she felt in its stead, yet somehow it was less unpleasant but more uncomfortable. There was the lingering unease, the stifled panic at being so near him, having his full attention, _don't look at me don't look at me don't look, _but as he smiled at her, waiting for her answer, she thought,

_Do you expect me to fall all over you? You think I've been waiting for some beautiful blue-eyed boy to waltz in and solve all my problems? Beautiful boys like you create problems. __I don't need to be fixed, and I certainly don't need you._

___You may be the Child of God, but this is a secular world, Yukimura Seiichi. _

However.

She _did _need to move forward, and—what did she have to lose? The rest of the season, once full of promise and glory, now loomed before her not as something dark but white, so _white_, a terrifying white blank. If she couldn't play doubles with Fuyumi… what would she _do_?

There'd never been a second option, never a backup plan. It had always been Fuyumi and Takamiya, winning and winning and winning.

"Takamiya-chan," he said again, lightly. A stray piece of hair was _almost _falling into his eyes. Almost.

She hugged her arms to her chest, let her fingertips skate. _There are my hips, there are my ribs. Here's my heart. _"Yukimura-kun," she said haltingly. "I'd like… I'd like to try to trust you."

Easily he replied, "I'd like you to trust me, too."

~x~

Yukimura ensured one net was left up, and, extracting a single tennis ball from a crate of literally hundreds of them, he led Takamiya to the farmost court. Nearly everyone else had already left. Without speaking, he took one side and she the other, and he fed the ball to her, right to her forehand, right in her strike-zone.

It made a soft, muffled sound like a whisper as it _whoosh_ed into the net.

She went to retrieve it, a flush already rising in her cheeks, and he said, "Just stay there by the net, Takamiya-chan." He walked up to join her. Truth be told, he wasn't exactly sure what to do, which was rare and rather irksome. She stiffened slightly as he approached, and he thought, _That won't do._

With little ceremony, he sat down right there on the court, his legs crossed loosely at the ankles as he leaned back on his hands, the rough surface a wonderfully familiar bite into his palms. He expected her to follow suit, but instead she just looked at him, her flush fading. He gave her a faintly prompting look, but she only waited.

In that moment her gaze reminded him a bit of Sanada's. There was metal in it, but a more flexible, far softer kind. Gold where Sanada's was steel.

He smiled up at her, suddenly delighted. _You have the pride of champions, Takamiya Miaka. _How he wished she were able to play him for real. But that was what they were working toward, wasn't it? "Please sit," he murmured. "If you'd be so kind."

She sat down across from him, long legs tucked under her, though she held her racquet in her lap as if she might need to use it in her own defense.

And again, that wouldn't do. He needed to understand what so discomfited her about male opponents and males in general. There was absolutely nothing wrong with her physical game. It was all mental. He thought, _Tell me what I need to know to help you. Trust me with that much, so that I can convince you to trust me further. _He thought,

_Take a chance on me._

To convince her to do so, he suspected, he'd have to take a chance on her first. He was far from a risk-averse person, but this was a risk he didn't take very often. He wasn't sure what compelled him to do it. Whether it was the gold in her eyes or the way she sat still enough that he could have painted her.

Whatever it was, he started talking. Slowly and casually, without any real sense of purpose. He told her about Sayoko, about how she'd loved to be carried when she was little and how she'd believed fairies had lived in their garden until she was ten years old. About his father, about how he worked late into the night and how his temples had turned gray when his son had fallen ill.

He told her about his mother, about how she'd gone to university in London and how she always knew instinctively which way north was. About his grandmother, about how she'd moved to France when her husband had died and how she'd send him books of French poetry every year on his birthday.

He even told her about the first time he'd played tennis.

He told her all that and probably some other things, too. He wasn't really sure. All he knew was that the sun was dipping just slightly lower and that Takamiya had set her racquet aside, had drawn her knees up to her chest, propped her chin upon them. That she was listening very intently, with what he imagined to be a quiet sort of wonder, her lips slightly parted.

When he trailed off into silence she said finally, "So those garden fairies. Ever catch them?" Her smile was soft and shy, but there was gold in it, just like in her eyes.

"We're still working on it," he assured her, and they smiled at each other through the net that divided them.

* * *

So I wouldn't have updated nearly so fast but your guys' reviews are incredible and lovely and thoughtful and they motivate me so much. I really appreciate all of them. For real though.

Also I am excited because I will be studying in China all of next year yasssss bish

If it bears mentioning, I only consider the PoT!manga canon, not the anime. They _butchered _Rikkai in the anime.

Also, if you ever have a question about this story and want an answer more substantial than "Hahahaaaa well I guess we'll see?", ask **livinglifeasitis**_, _don't ask me. She's the only one who has any idea what's going on in this story. I just do the manual labor.

Disclaimer: I do not own _Prince of Tennis_, or The Killers' "I've Got Soul, But I'm Not a Soldier" (lyrics at the top).


	7. We're All in Line for the Throne

Author's Note: Appreciate how fast I update. Appreciate itttt**  
**

* * *

**Kick Drum Hearts**

_(Only so much that my heart can take_

_It doesn't matter what you say_

_Wishing for all we could have been)_

"Fujita Ishiko-kun doesn't seem to like you very much, Yukimura," murmured Yamaguchi Kaiyo, smirking. "She keeps glaring at you while trying to disguise it with an insipid smile." She wore a slinky black sheath dress that set off her eyes, violet like Marui's, though the comparison ended there: hers were a panther's eyes, meant to startle and accompany a snarl. Rarely did she feel the need to mask this as a smile.

Sayoko quite admired that.

"Mm," she agreed, not terribly concerned about it, though she did glance at her classmate, who sat with some other student council members, sipping sparkling cider and discussing whether Japan would once again lead East Asia economically as per the flying geese paradigm. Sayoko had thoughts on the subject and might have joined the conversation, but was too busy hanging off Ikeda's every word.

It was slightly, slightly, _slightly _possible she had an enormous girl-crush on Ikeda Ai. But only slightly.

"Fujita-kun will come to terms with your presence eventually," said Ikeda, checking to ensure none of her seven earrings (three in each ear, and a final in the cartilage of her left) had fallen out. She removed them for school of course, but had them in for the mixer. It made Sayoko want her own ears pierced a second time. And a third. "No need to concern yourself with something like that."

"Speaking from experience, are you," Yamaguchi noted, lips still quirked.

Ikeda smiled. "I turned eighteen last month, remember? I'm ancient, and thus obligated to share my abundant life experience. Yukimura-chan thinks I've a wealth of knowledge, don't you?"

"A veritable cornucopia of wisdom," Sayoko agreed. "I look forward to your memoirs."

Yamaguchi pointed a flawlessly manicured nail at Ikeda. It was far more impressive than if Sayoko had pointed one of her own stubby nails. "If you don't dedicate at least three chapters to an in-depth discussion of how profoundly I've impacted your life, consider our friendship over, Ai."

"Hadn't even known you considered me a friend, Kaiyo," Ikeda replied, her lipstick leaving a smudge of pink on the crystal flute she sipped from. "I'm touched. I think of you as a sister… or, on days when you're in one of your moods, a twice-removed cousin."

"And you, Yukimura?" Yamaguchi inquired, eyebrows raised. "How do you think of me?"

"As the kind of creature who would eat her own young," answered Sayoko promptly.

Yamaguchi threw her head back and laughed, the sound arresting the attention of many people around them. "You catch on quickly, I'll give you that. It's good that you're here. You were wasted at Rikkai."

Sayoko smiled vaguely before spotting Atobe across the room, his head lowered as a hotel employee spoke in his ear. Every other Friday evening Hyotei's student council reserved the lounge bar at The Peninsula Tokyo Hotel in the prestigious Marunouchi financial district, directly opposite the Imperial Palace. Everything was an exquisite blend of modern design and traditional Japanese inspiration.

"Excuse me for a moment," said Sayoko to Ikeda and Yamaguchi, unhurriedly making her way toward Atobe. The strap of her pale pink cocktail dress, which she'd found at a consignment store in Washington, D.C.'s Georgetown, threatened to slip down her shoulder, but she willed it to stay put.

"Yukimura-kun," said Atobe as the employee slipped away with incredible poise, "enjoying the party?"

She considered him. "Is the point to enjoy it for its ontic value or to revel simply in the fact that we're here while ninety-eight percent of the rest of the student body wasn't invited?"

One hand in the pants pocket of his impeccable charcoal gray suit, he smirked. "Look at you, throwing around terms like 'ontic value' when Hiyoshi tells me your math grades are so pitiful you're at risk of being demoted to 2-C."

_I am going to have some strong words with Hiyoshi-kun, _she thought sullenly. "Do you honestly care about me so much that you insist on daily updates on my life? I'm flattered, Atobe-senpai."

"Don't be," he replied, his easy tone at odds with the very direct look he pinned her with. "Make no mistake, Yukimura-kun: I am wonderfully fond of you, truly I am, but I don't _care_ for you." He lifted a shoulder in an artful shrug. Said simply, "You haven't given me a reason to."

She tilted her head, a few locks of hair escaping the sideways French twist Ikeda had done for her. She wasn't offended by this frank admission, but rather curious. To be so kind to and generous with someone he didn't even truly _care _about… it was inconceivable to her.

_Who are you, Atobe Keigo? If I'm to tell you who _I _am, then you have to return the favor._

Lightly she said, "You never answered my question." She gestured in a way meant to encompass everything, the well-dressed teens and the silver trays of hors d'oeuvres and the concerto slipping through the sound-system. "What's the point of all this?"

"To socialize with your peers." Lifting his glass to his lips, the sleeve of his suit rode up just enough that she glimpsed the pale of his wrist, the faint blue vein. He raised his eyebrows. "Don't you feel that you belong?"

The people around her were discussing Sino-Russo relations and the role of the media and the desertification of the Sahel, were making references to Miyabe Miyuki and Ai Weiwei and John Mearsheimer. She _did _feel like she belonged. She was _enjoying _herself, was interested and _engaged_.

She shrugged artlessly. Said truthfully, "I'd prefer if they were playing Beyoncé instead of Beethoven."

He cast his gaze toward the gilded ceiling in exaggerated dismay.

~x~

"Better wait," said Arakaki Arata to his doubles partner the next day. "We shouldn't say anything in front of her." By "her" he meant Tachibana An, who was stretching in strained but somehow companionable silence with Kirihara Akaya, their former captain and intended audience. "She'll go straight to Yukimura-buchou about it."

"Don't know about that," Hagiwara Daichi replied neutrally, so Arakaki said no more about it. Hagiwara was the far more keen of the two.

Kirihara looked at them skeptically as they approached. "What is it you two want?" Beside him, Tachibana watched them curiously as she leaned into a hamstring stretch that would have made Arakaki howl in pain.

"That's no way to greet old friends, is it." Hagiwara dropped down to sit opposite Kirihara, legs crossed before him. Arakaki remained standing.

"I see you guys literally like every day."

Hagiwara's voice was airy. "Seeing and deigning to interact with are two very different things, buchou."

"I'm not your captain anymore," Kirihara scoffed, while simultaneously Tachibana said, "Calling him that is sort of like heresy, isn't it? What with Yukimura-senpai still in power." When everyone turned to look at her, she crossed her arms. "What? I'm supposed to sit here quietly and pretend I'm not listening to your entire conversation? No way. I was here first. You wanna talk to Kirihara alone, take him somewhere else, like behind a dumpster."

Kirihara stretched his arms above his head. "I'm not going anywhere. I don't think I can get up."

"I told you you'd mess up your back if you don't keep it straight when you do a plank." Without looking at Tachibana, Kirihara took a slow, aimless swing at her, seeming to neither notice nor care when he missed by a good six inches. Tachibana didn't even bother to dodge.

Hagiwara leaned back on his hands. Pointed out, "But you'll be our captain again as soon as this season ends."

"Don't assume things," Kirihara retorted lazily. "Maybe I'll quit the team and pursue my lifelong passion for flower-arranging." Tachibana ducked her head to hide a grin.

"Maybe you will," Hagiwara shrugged. "But if you don't, we're back where we were in junior high, with you being the only regular even remotely prepared for a new tournament season."

"We've been over how much I hate you beating around the bush, Hagiwara." Kirihara pushed his hair back from his face. "Get to the point or get out of here."

"We and the other sub-regulars want Yukimura-buchou to actually take into consideration the fact that the tennis team won't cease to exist the moment he's no longer on it," Hagiwara said directly. Arakaki kept an eye out for any passerbys who might overhear. "Yukimura Seiichi isn't concerned with Rikkai's legacy so much as his own. We all know it, and," he shrugged, "those of us who will be here after he's gone want to change it."

"So you want Yukimura-senpai to devote more time and attention to warming up and preparing next year's regulars," Tachibana surmised, her large blue-gray eyes intent.

Arakaki joined the conversation for the first time. "Wouldn't _you_?" he asked, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Aside from you and that Fujimaru Imari, do you even know who else will be starting next year?"

She frowned.

"This doesn't," said Kirihara tightly, "have anything to do with me. Got a problem, take it up with Yukimura-buchou himself. Hell, he listens to _her_," he nodded to Tachibana, "more than he listens to me."

Hagiwara stood. His gaze was sharp when he said, "You've changed since you were captain, Kirihara. Really, you've devolved. As you are now you'd make a suck-ass captain, anyway. I hardly think I'm beating around the bush when I tell you that."

Before their former captain could reply, he and Arakaki walked away to join the other sub-regulars.

~x~

"Hey, Katsuragi-chan," Marui said idly as they took a break between sets, "what's going on between you and Yagyuu?"

"… What?"

"I'm getting this weird—well, weirder than normal—vibe from him, and it gets weirder and more vibe-y whenever he looks at you."

Katsuragi decided immediately that she'd vastly preferred it when Marui had been too concerned about Shimizu to notice anything else. Ever since the two had skipped Wednesday's practice, though, Shimizu had been, while far from her normal self, decidedly more present, working with Yukimura to arrange the practice matches. She'd been the one to pit Marui against Katsuragi.

She took a long sip of water. Said, "I didn't know he's been looking at me." That was a lie—she _felt _it every time Yagyuu looked over from the court where he was playing Nakajima. It made her feel like she'd downed three energy drinks in a row, made her feel buzzed and shaky and neon-bright, neon-hot.

"Uh huh," Marui replied, raking a hand through his hair. When he turned to consider her, it occurred to her, not for the first time, that Marui sported the colors of a parrot but the eyes of a hawk. "You _do _know," he asked slowly, "what sort of a guy Yagyuu is, don't you?"

She knew. And, perversely—she wanted to know _more_. Wanted to know better. She threw him an easy smile. "Well, who can say for sure. Do you know what sort of a girl _I _am?"

Marui smiled a little. Said, more to himself than to her, "I think we'll all find out soon enough."

~x~

Yukimura was unsurprised when Niou, without knocking, let himself into the coach's office after practice had ended and everyone else had left. He didn't speak, only draped himself over the chair across from Yukimura's desk. Sleeplessness shadowed his face, sharpened it.

"Please, make yourself comfortable," Yukimura murmured. Years ago he'd learned that snapping at Niou was counterproductive, though the other boy could be maddening enough to drive him to it anyway. "No need to stand on such formality." When Niou didn't reply, he pressed his palms to his eyes. "Well? Are you finally going to tell me off for assembling a pitchfork-wielding mob to drive Sayoko away?"

"You're not the reason she left. Don't you _get _that?"

Yukimura let his hands drop. Said pointedly, "Oh? That's rather antithetical to what you've told me in the past. About me smothering her, mistreating her, bullying her…" He spread his hands half-heartedly. "I may be paraphrasing. Please, correct me if I'm wrong."

"You're not wrong." Niou shrugged. Smiled thinly. "You're exaggerating to make a point, just like she does, but you're not wrong. Your relationship with her factors into her decision to leave, but it's not the _reason_." He shook his head once. "You may have some trouble believing this, and God knows she has as well, but you are not actually the be-all and end-all of Sayoko's very existence."

"But you are?" Anger sliced a sharp smile across Yukimura's face. "I suppose that makes sense. Why else would you have the right to emotionally abuse her?" He thought of his sister, his poor baby sister, clinging to him at last week's match the way she had when she'd been tiny and terrified to let him out of her sight.

Niou had the decency to look ashamed. "No one has that right," he said hollowly.

"But you have that power," Yukimura needled, "and you exercise it with abandon."

"I did," Niou agreed wearily. "But not anymore. It's complicated, all right? It shouldn't be but it is. I won't let myself do that to her again. And more than that, I suspect…" He rubbed at his jaw. Said quietly, "I suspect I don't even have that power over her anymore. Or at least not as much." He shrugged. "But this isn't about me, and it's not about you, either. It's about Sayoko. She left for _herself_, Yukimura. She finally did something for herself."

Dimly he laughed. "We should be proud of her. We should be happy."

_How can I be happy, _thought Yukimura, _when my sister isn't spending my last year in Japan with me? Soon enough I'll be on the professional circuit, with hardly any time to come home. How can she sacrifice what little time we have left together?_

With great pain and guilt and sorrow, it occurred to him then, recalling the anguished look on her face as she'd taken his hands, said, _I love you, I love you, I love you, Oniisan, please, know that. I… I just… This isn't about you. It's… it's about me. Please understand. This is about me._

He hadn't understood. Hadn't understood what she was saying, only that she was leaving and that somehow, it was his fault. How could it not have been his fault?

Perhaps because not everything Sayoko did she did because of or for him.

Suddenly wanting very much to just be _alone_, Yukimura asked tightly, "Is that all you had to say?"

"I wish." Niou's expression became very bleak. "Kirigaoka High School, from Chubu. We played them two years ago at Nationals. Do you remember? You played a guy named Takada Shouta. You used the yips on him."

Yukimura remembered, and had a very bad feeling about it. "What of it?"

"They were at the exhibition match," said Niou grimly, "and Takada ran across Sayoko somehow. He's… he's _fixated _on her, Yukimura. And he's bad news."

_That _much Yukimura recalled distinctly. It was why he'd used the yips on him in the first place. Fear was a spontaneous flame that blazed through his veins as if following a trail of gunpowder, turning his blood to ash. "He wants… to hurt her?"

Niou's expression said it all.

"Because of what I did to him?" Yukimura's hands shook. With fear or rage, he wasn't sure. Probably both. "Because of me?" Even if not everything Sayoko _did _was related to him, things could happen (and had often happened) _to _her _because of_ him.

"No, not really. Because of her," said Niou quietly. "Because of who she is and how _he _is. How…" He looked down at his hands, lying loose and limp on his lap. Looked down as if he were kneeling before an altar.

"If Takada Shouta hurts my little sister…" Yukimura couldn't even finish the thought.

Niou could. "If he hurts Sayoko," he said with a terrifying calm, "I will lose my fucking mind."

~x~

Watanabe, having come straight from practice, arrived at the café half an hour early and was literally bouncing in her seat by the time Kaori arrived. She'd chosen a table by the door for the express purpose of being able to launch herself at her best friend the moment she stepped inside. Her mother would have been horrified, would have gone still and pale with anger and shame, but at the moment Watanabe didn't care.

"Kaori," she laughed, hugging her close, "Kaori, how are you?"

"Chouko, Chouko, Chouko," Kaori sang, in her husky voice which couldn't carry a tune for love or money. She stood back, considered Watanabe. Said with some consternation, "I don't think you've grown at all since I saw you last."

Watanbe paused. Whenever they met up, Kaori told her that she'd grown. "Have I gotten shorter?" she teased.

"Mmm… maybe," Kaori hummed, dropping into her chair gracelessly. Watanabe slid into her own far more smoothly, sat and beamed at her friend. Kaori had hair the color of wet sand, and eyes to match. Her hands were paint-stained, and even her face bore smudges of it, as if she'd unthinkingly passed a hand over it. Watanabe would have pointed this out to anyone else so they could go wash it off, but she knew Kaori didn't care.

Their server approached, and Kaori said immediately, "Cake. Will you share a slice of pistachio cake with me?"

"Tournament season, sorry," said Watanabe regretfully. Apparently some people, like Marui, could perform at their highest level while ingesting appalling amounts of sugar and saturated fat, but she certainly couldn't. Not to mention sugar made her break out.

"Oh yeah. Well, _I'm _going to have cake, and I'm not even going to feel bad eating it in front of you. It will be a test of your iron will."

Watanabe nodded solemnly. "I've been training for just such a challenge for months now. You have no idea how many waterfalls I've meditated under." To the server she said, "Just oolong tea, please."

Once he'd gone, she asked, "So how is school?"

Kaori's smile was faraway. "My God, it's… I mean, it's a lot of work, I'm exhausted all the time, and my parents are _still _convinced I could transfer to a technical school and somehow save my future, but—but it's excellent. It's really, really excellent. Going to art school is the best decision I ever made, even if…" Her smile faded a little. "Well, even if I made it for the wrong reason."

The wrong reason being Yukimura Seiichi.

Watanabe drew a long, slow breath, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. "Speaking of which, Kaori… there's something I have to tell you. Something I should have told you a long time ago." She frowned. "Or maybe not. Maybe I shouldn't tell you at all. I mean, it's not going to _change _anything, might just upset you, and I don't want to upset you, I don't, I just—

"I just… I'd like to tell you."

Kaori tilted her head. Said softly, "I'd like to hear it."

She could hardly breathe. Her chest felt tight and strained, as if her heart were a balloon about to pop. "It's just that I… I like Yukimura-kun. I've… I've _always _liked Yukimura-kun. While you were dating him, and even before that. I never told you then because it didn't seem to matter, _everyone _liked him, and then when you two got together… how could I say anything that might ruin that?"

Her voice wavered. "I wanted you to be happy. And you _were _happy, at least for a little while. And I thought… I thought it would go away, me liking him. But it hasn't. It hasn't, and I feel awful. Kaori, I feel awful. I'm so sorry." She bowed her head. "Please forgive me."

"What do I have to forgive you for?" Kaori breathed. "Oh, Chouko, _I'm _sorry. That's—that's so _miserable_. I had no idea. No clue. I can be," she shrugged unhappily, "well, you know how I can be. Sometimes I just don't notice really important stuff, and I just—but oh, _Chouko_. I wish I'd known. I would have…"

"You would have felt guilty for being with him," said Watanabe quietly, "and that would have killed me. He chose you, and you chose him. That's all there is to it. But now…" She sighed. "The reason I'm bringing this up now is because—he seems so unhappy, Kaori, in this quiet, strange way that breaks my heart."

Their order arrived then, and Kaori picked up her fork but didn't use it, only held it in her fingers the way she would a paintbrush. With distress Watanabe noticed that her hands trembled slightly. "Why do you think he's unhappy?"

"His sister left. Transferred to Hyotei out of the blue."

"Ah," said Kaori. Her voice was distant. So much of the time a part of Kaori was just somewhere _else_, somewhere Watanabe could never follow. "Yes, that would upset Seiichi very much."_  
_

"It's just that I…" Watanabe watched the steam from her teacup rise and rise, disappear. "I'm lovesick but I'm not delusional. Much as I try to convince myself otherwise, when it all comes down to it Yukimura-kun looks right past me." Thinking of Tachibana and now, Takamiya, she added, "I'm not even the one on my team he pays the most attention to."

_Though he doesn't look at anyone the way he looked at you. Never. _"And you know what? That's all right. It hurts right now but one day it won't. I'm not concerned about myself, I'm concerned about him.

"I can't make him like me, can't make him see me, but I do still want to help him." She nodded once to herself. "More than anything, I want to help him."

"Oh, Chouko," Kaori murmured. "You are such a kind person." She shook her head slowly. "Too kind for your own good."

Watanabe shrugged uncomfortably. "Kaori… I feel absolutely awful asking this, but—but _I _can't do anything for him, I know I can't, and I know… I know you still care for him. Do you think—do you think you could maybe try do to something?" She swallowed. "For Yukimura-kun."

Kaori closed her eyes. The hand holding her fork moved as if she were painting something in the air. Something only she could see. As she waited, Watanabe bit down so hard on her lip she tasted blood.

Finally Kaori said, her voice having never been father away than it was right then, "I can try."

~x~

"Akari," her mother called through the door, "Tsubame-chan and Miaka-chan are here."

Fuyumi nodded, though of course her mother couldn't see. "Please let them in."

Moments later Shimizu and Takamiya let themselves into her bedroom, both carrying their tennis bags, which Fuyumi knew were filled with what they'd need for the match tomorrow as well as what they'd brought to spend the night in her apartment. It wasn't something they did often, but often enough that it felt familiar, felt _normal _in a way that made her throat tighten.

_Nothing is normal, _she thought, staring down at her right leg, completely encased in a cast. _Not anymore._

"Your brother's only a ninth grader, isn't he?" Shimizu wanted to know, plopping her stuff down and sitting on the foot of Fuyumi's bed. "How did he get hot all of a sudden?"

"Tsubame," Takamiya sighed, "that's gross."

"I was only pointing it out," Shimizu shrugged. Said to Fuyumi, "Soon enough you'll have to beat girls back with a stick. Let me know if you ever want help." This sort of dialogue would have been familiar too, were it not so clearly forced. Fuyumi had skipped an entire week of school, and hadn't seen either of them since they'd visited her in the hospital. At least they both seemed a little steadier than they had then, Takamiya especially. Shimizu was still far from herself.

As Takamiya sat down beside Shimizu, Fuyumi clutched her lime green duvet in her hands. She'd had it since seventh grade. The year she'd started at Rikkai, the year she'd met Shimizu and Takamiya. "The match tomorrow… I know I said I would go, but—" She swallowed. Confessed hoarsely, "I'm scared." _Scared to show my face. Scared of how people will look at me. Scared of how much it will hurt to be there but not play._

"Don't be scared," said Takamiya, her soft voice at odds with the hard look in her eyes. "We're the ones other people are afraid of. _You _are."

Fuyumi smiled grimly. "Not anymore." Then, she shook her head. "I'm sorry. Self-pity hardly solves anything. I'll go with you tomorrow. I will."

"Of course you will." Shimizu tugged at the silver cross hanging from her neck. "You're our captain. It's only right that you be there when we win. Did you get the lineup proposal I emailed to you?"

Fuyumi nodded slowly. "Miaka… are you sure you still—?"

"Yes," said Takamiya firmly, despite the sudden trembling of her lower lip, "yes, I still want to be in Doubles One. Just… one last time. Please, allow me one last time. Nakajima-chan and I won't let you down."

The thought of anyone else playing doubles with Takamiya was too much to bear, but it was Fuyumi's duty as captain, so she bore it anyway. "All right. And keeping Watanabe and Fujimaru in Doubles Two…" She frowned. "Katsuragi really agreed to drop down to Singles Three?"

Shimizu nodded. "Tachibana came up to me yesterday, and she just looks at me and she says, 'I know I haven't challenged Katsuragi-senpai for her spot, haven't won it from her yet, but I should play Singles Two on Sunday anyway. Right now I'm the most stable. I'm the one who will win.' And you know what?" Shimizu asked, her voice uncharacteristically soft. "Damn if I didn't believe her.

"Tachibana's really been holding herself—and the rest of the team—together this past week. She's done what I failed to do."

"Think she could be captain next year?" Fuyumi inquired. Before she'd been hurt, the thought of the next year, of leaving tennis behind had been a knife in her gut, but now… _My career is already over. Gone, done, finished. Just like that._

"It's a definite possibility," Shimizu admitted.

"But we have more pressing issues at the moment," Takamiya murmured. "Mikuzu agreed that Tachibana's more qualified for Singles Two right now." She frowned. "Mikuzu's been… agitated lately. There may be something else going on with her."

"This morning Bunta-kun asked me about what I thought was going on with her and Yagyuu." Shimizu scrunched up her face. "I had no idea what he was talking about, and he wouldn't really explain." She shrugged. "He's always been way more perceptive than me. Though I have," she turned to Takamiya, "noticed you've been spending some time with Yukimura."

Fuyumi's eyebrows rose to her hairline.

"Is everything okay there?" Shimizu continued. "Whatever he's doing, do you want me to tell him to lay off?"

"No, it's all right." Takamiya hugged her arms to her chest. "Yukimura-kun is… well, he's trying to help me. I'm not sure why, and I don't think he does either. But I do think he means well." Slowly, and with wonder she repeated, "I do think he means well."

Fuyumi recognized that an admission of that sort from Takamiya was momentous. Fuyumi understood why many people had misgivings about Yukimura, but having worked closely with him, she had a great deal of respect for him. He wasn't a bad person. Far from it. And, despite all indications to the contrary, Takamiya could handle herself. Could _more _than handle herself.

Could probably give Yukimura a run for his money.

She smiled at her. "I'm glad for you, Miaka."

"Be glad for all of us." Shimizu's voice was strained, but firm. "We're going to win tomorrow, like we always do."

"Like we always do," Takamiya nodded.

"Always," Fuyumi whispered. Her own personal _always _had been ripped from her the moment she'd gotten her foot caught in the net—stupid, stupid, _stupid_, how could she have been so _careless_—but there was a larger, more important _always _that she was still a part of, still responsible for.

_Rikkai must always win._

~x~

"That's enough," said Yukimura later that night at the street courts. "Else you'll exhaust yourself before your match tomorrow."

An considered arguing, but he was right. If they played any longer she'd begin to feel it in her arms, in her legs, in her core. The people who'd been watching them rally looked disappointed as Yukimura and An packed up, but called out "Good luck tomorrow" and "Win, Rikkai Dai!" as they left. An offered them a small wave, while Yukimura simply inclined his head once.

"I don't know if I'll be able to sleep tonight," she admitted as they walked. It was already approaching ten p.m., and her nerves were fraught with electricity.

"I imagine that will be a challenge for many people tonight," he murmured.

She glanced at him. "Including you?"

"You forget how terribly old I am, An. We elderly people are adamant about getting our rest." His voice was light, but it troubled her that he still _sounded _old right then, sounded bone-weary the way a boy of eighteen absolutely should not. Before she could devise a tactful way of commenting on this, he asked, "Has Sayoko ever mentioned a boy to you? A boy from another school?"

"Another school? Not Rikkai or Hyotei?" She shook her head. "Never. And we text all the time. Why?"

"It doesn't matter," he said in a way that made it very clear it mattered a great deal.

And An might have let that go as she'd let many things of that nature go in the past, but this time she said evenly, "I can count on one hand the number of things you bring up that don't actually matter. If it's something important involving Sayoko, I should know. Just like how, if you have a problem, you should tell me. You can trust me, Yukimura-senpai.

"If you haven't figured that out by now, you haven't been paying attention."

That she'd been bold enough to say that was a surprise, but a pleasant one. Even now she could have hastened to retract or at least soften it, but instead she stopped walking, rocked back and forth on her heels, waited patiently for his reply. The things a city was made of, the noise and the lights and the smell of metal, faded for a moment.

"I have been paying attention to you," he said reasonably, "and I do trust you. If you haven't realized that, then _you _haven't been paying attention."

"I love you like my own brother," she said, voice soft. It was painful to admit it, but even more painful to keep it locked up in her chest. "Have you paid attention to that?"

With an aching sort of gentleness, he smiled, moving forward to take her in his arms, one hand at the back of her head, smoothing her hair. She relaxed against him, gripping his shirt loosely. They stayed like that for a moment before he placed a finger under her chin, tipped it up so he could press a star-light kiss to her forehead.

"I love you too," he murmured, and took her hand in his. "Now let's get you home."

* * *

Made a tumblr specifically for this story! Just has songs related to characters right now, but I may do like, previews and some meta on some characters?

Also I have decided I really want to finish this story before I go to China. Keep me motivated to write instead of study/hang out with my friends/sleep! Luckily my semester is winding downnnn

Disclaimer: I do not own _Prince of Tennis_, or Tristan Prettyman's "I Was Gonna Marry You" (lyrics at the top).


	8. And You Know We're On Each Other's Team

Author's Note: Don't expect another update for a while - I mean it this time. (:

* * *

**Kick Drum Hearts**

_(You're the one that I love_

_And I'm saying goodbye_

_Say something, I'm giving up on you)_

"Should be a good match," said Oshitari very early on Sunday morning as he and Atobe completed their ritual run around the latter's estate. "Not ours, of course—Rokkaku won't just roll over and play dead, but I hardly think we'll lose more than a game to them, much less a match. But the girls' will definitely be worth watching."

Breathing easily, Atobe replied, "And even if it weren't, you'd watch anyway on the off-chance that Nomura gave you the time of day."

"I cannot help," said Oshitari, "being a fool for love." His tone was breezy, but held a note of pain that Atobe elected not to remark on. Who would have thought that the girl Oshitari would actually develop feelings for would be undeniably homely Nomura Sana?

"Now that Sohma-chan's beaten Ishii, it will be interesting to see how she fares in Singles Two," Atobe commented as they dropped to a slow, steady jog. His estate grounds had been modeled to resemble those he'd left behind in England, and in the cool blue-gray of morning, they made him rather nostalgic. "I wouldn't be surprised if she beats even Nomura before the season ends."

"She's progressed at an alarming pace," Oshitari agreed, sighing in a way that made his fine-boned nose wrinkle slightly. "In many areas."

"One of those areas being her affections for you?" When Oshitari's nose only wrinkled further, Atobe slowed to a walk. "Break that girl's heart and even I won't be able to save you from the girls' wrath." This year all the regulars were third-years save for first-year Sohma, and they were all terribly fond of her.

"That you're even concerned about me at all…" Oshitari laid a hand on his chest. "Be still, my beating heart."

Atobe sneered at him as the sun came up.

~x~

"Ikeda Ai," said the girl who'd accompanied Sayoko into the tournament grounds. Her hair and eyes were brown, her smile natural. "It's nice to meet you."

"Yukimura Seiichi." He shook her hand. "The pleasure is mine. I recognize you, actually. Aren't you Atobe's girlfriend?" For the past two years he'd occasionally spotted her sitting with the Hyotei team at tournaments, a book open on her lap.

"I was," she replied, unperturbed.

"Ikeda-senpai is the vice-president of student council, and she lives in the dorms with me," volunteered Sayoko. She wore a lacy white peplum top with a black satin ribbon around the middle, and he noticed that above the diamond earrings given to her by their grandmother, she sported a pair of little gold bows, the skin around them still red. He raised his eyebrows, and she fingered the jewelry self-consciously.

"I mentioned to Ikeda-senpai how much I like her earrings," and sure enough, Ikeda wore seven of them, "and she offered to take me to get my ears pierced again. We just went last night."

"She won't be able to take them out for school or else the holes will close," Ikeda informed him, "but so long as she keeps her hair down around her face like she normally does, it's unlikely anyone will notice."

"I see," said Yukimura slowly. For Sayoko to already be so attached to this girl… "Well, thank you for taking care of my sister."

"No thanks needed." She smiled. "I'll leave you two to talk."

Once she'd walked away, Yukimura considered his little sister. Her eyes were shadowed by sleeplessness—apparently even two weeks hadn't been enough for her to adjust to sleeping away from home. She asked with some anxiety, "You like Ikeda-senpai, don't you, Oniisan?"

"Hmm? Yes." Lips pressed thinly together, he placed a hand on her arm, guiding her toward a more secluded area. His team had already registered and gone to wait for the girls' match to begin, but he'd waited by the entrance for Sayoko to arrive. "Sayoko…" He considered her closely. "Niou spoke to me yesterday."

"Did he?" asked Sayoko coolly. "How quaint."

At his expression she ducked her head, hair tumbling forward, but he tipped her chin up as he had An's the night before, said, "No, Sayoko, look at me. He told me about Kirigaoka. About Takada Shouta." And just like that, her body went rigid, her face white, and Yukimura could not bear to see her that frightened. He drew her to him, wrapped her up in his arms.

"Oh, Sayoko," he murmured to the top of her head, "how could you not tell me?" _Did you think I would turn it around on you, make this about me instead? Is that how you think of me? What you expect from me?_

There were so many things he wanted to tell her, ask her. So many things he didn't know how to say.

"I don't know," she mumbled into his chest. "I don't know, Oniisan, I'm sorry. I… I just…" She began to shake.

"Sayoko, Sayoko," he said gently, letting go of her only so he could bend to meet her eyes, "it's all right, it's all right. I love you above anyone else in the world. All right? You don't have to be afraid. No one will hurt you. I promise you that."

He didn't understand why she looked so sad.

~x~

Takamiya wasn't much for glaring, but she had throw around some very hard looks as she'd walked with Fuyumi toward the court, moving slowly to allow for her crutches. Fuyumi had mastered them with the outstanding athleticism and sheer willpower she was known for, but it was still rough going over all the different terrains that comprised the tournament grounds.

Shimizu and Watanabe were _very _much for glaring, and did so at the slightest provocation, real or imagined. Fujimaru was quicker than usual to scowl, and even Katsuragi's expression was tight, guarded. Nakajima, vulnerable to the tension in the air, had her shoulders hunched and her brows furrowed over her pale gray eyes.

Only Tachibana seemed even remotely at ease. She sat by herself, stretching occasionally, her mouth straight. Takamiya had a feeling she was visualizing herself on the court, picturing herself winning. _That's the way, _thought Takamiya with some affection and a great deal of pride. _Good girl._

The sub-regulars, normally chattering among themselves, were silent and watchful, as were the team's many supporters taking their seats in the stands. The cheering squad looked more ready to burn down a building than chant. Everyone knew how important this match was. Knew what was on the line. Knew what they had to prove, to defend.

Fuyumi had muttered as they'd walked to the tournament grounds, _Rikkai has a pretty dismal track-record when it comes to captains, doesn't it._

"Takamiya-chan?"

She gave a start, whirled to find Yukimura behind her. The rest of the boys had shown up a little while ago, and she'd been slightly… put-out when he hadn't. Which was _stupid_. Now, looking at him, she offered a small, tentative smile. "Yukimura-kun. Hello."

"Hello," he smiled. Something told her he was troubled, but it wasn't her right to pry. "I just wanted to wish you luck."

_As if you of all people take any stock in luck, Yukimura Seiichi, _she thought, a little wary but mostly amused. "Thank you," she began, only to be cut off.

"Miaka," said a soft-as-snow voice. "There you are." Takamiya whirled again, this time to find her _mother _of all people.

For a moment she could only think numbly, _We've entered an alternate dimension, one where people like my mother and Yukimura Seiichi are on the same plane of existence. Are in the same place, at the same time, within ten feet of each other. Why does this feel like the start of either a horror movie or a rom-com?__  
_

"… Mama," she said finally, eyes wide, "Mama, what are you doing here?" Very infrequently did her mother come to her matches: as a legal secretary, she worked herself to death six days a week. Providing for yourself and for a child was grueling when cost-of-living was as high as it was in Yokohama. Really, anywhere in Japan, perhaps the whole world. Being a single parent couldn't be easy no matter where you were.

Takamiya never wanted to be a parent.

Her mother smiled wanly. She looked far older than she was, with gray hair, a stooped back, and a face wrinkled like used tissue paper. No one would have guessed she'd only been twenty when she'd had her first and only child. "With poor Akari-chan hurt, I thought you could use my support."

_But you should be resting, relaxing for once. You work so hard, and it's your one day off, _Takamiya wanted desperately to say, but not in front of Yukimura, who was watching curiously. Everyone at Rikkai knew his family was well-off, that they lived in a house with two stories and a _yard_. She wasn't ashamed of her mother—she was _proud _of her—but she didn't want Yukimura to know that part of her life. Not when there was no way he could understand.

But her mother, with that same tired little smile, had already turned her attention to Yukimura. "And you are?"

"Yukimura Seiichi, ma'am." Hands at his sides, he performed the most graceful bow Takamiya had ever seen. "It's an honor to meet you."

"Thank you for taking care of my Miaka, Yukimura-kun."

His smile was enchanting while somehow modest. "It's quite the opposite, I assure you." Takamiya nearly choked on air at _that_. "May I escort you to your seat?"

"If you'd be so kind." And Takamiya, gaping like a fish out of water, watched as Yukimura Seiichi offered her mother his arm and helped her into the stands.

Her first instinct was to intervene, to knock his hand away and help her mother herself, but—

She hugged her arms to her chest. It's_ all right. It's all right. Mama's all right._

_Maybe this really is the start of a horror movie_, she thought dismally as she rejoined her team, who had watched the encounter with interest. _And Yukimura kills his victims simply by making them feel too uncomfortable to live. _

Unable to help it, she smiled a little. It seemed like something he would do.

~x~

"I can't believe it," Nomura said, shaking her head over the lineup sheet an official had just handed her. "You were right, Hayley. Takamiya's staying in Doubles One and Nakajima is taking Fuyumi's place. What are they _thinking_?" She sounded almost personally offended.

"Perhaps," Kato purred as she braided a long lock of pale hair, "they aren't." (_If you hadn't gone and chopped it all off back in middle school, _she'd needled Shishido earlier, _I could have braided your hair, too. Wouldn't that have been special? _That had earned her a very sour look.)

Ootori said, "To just throw together a doubles pair like that…" His disapproval was manifest in his delicate grimace. Sohma had noticed he could say a lot without talking much at all. Yamaguchi reached up and flicked his ear, earning a terribly affectionate, terribly exasperated look. "Yamaguchi-senpai."

She smiled like the cat that had swallowed the canary. "Chotarou." She spun on her heels, putting her back to him.

Sohma watched this with rapt attention and not just a little bit of wonder. Ootori had blown Yamaguchi's reputation as a maneater, giving as good as he got (though in a far quieter, more understated manner). That she was deeply devoted to and fond of Ootori was an anomaly, for Yamaguchi wrapped nearly all other boys around her little finger, drew them close and ate them whole.

_Is there a class for that? _Sohma thought wistfully, her gaze on Oshitari. Though truthfully she didn't want to be like Yamaguchi, just wanted Oshitari to notice her, smile at her, hold her hand. Be her first kiss.

She wanted that from him, and from one other, even more unlikely person.

Feeling sick to her stomach, she looked away as Oshitari approached to read the lineup sheet over Nomura's shoulder, his face beside hers.

~x~

"Oniisan suggested I come find you."

Sayoko let that hang for a moment as she and Niou considered each other. He'd been lying on a bench in a part of the grounds that, given how many teams hadn't progressed this far, wasn't being used, but had sat up at her approach. His expression was unreadable but his face spoke volumes: the shadows under his eyes, the hollows under his cheeks as if he'd lost just a little weight, just enough to make his face that much sharper.

Finally she went on, "He thought I should talk to you. He knew I wouldn't have otherwise." She tilted her head. "You must have said something that struck a chord with him. Something besides what you told him about Takada, maybe." Despite herself, her voice broke a bit over the dreaded name.

He heard that, of course, and rose smoothly to his feet but did not approach her. That was wise of him. "What? Are you going to tell me what my brother told me? That I shouldn't be afraid? That you won't let anyone hurt me?" She smiled thinly. "Aside from yourself, naturally."

"No." His voice was quiet. "You should be afraid. You'd be stupid not to be." Tilting his head just as she had, he added, too low for her to hear his tone, "It's all right to be afraid, Sayoko."

There it was. What she'd so desperately wanted to hear from her brother: _It's all right to be afraid. _Because she _was _afraid. Even a promise from her brother, which she'd always valued as the ultimate guarantee, an absolute certainty, had done nothing to abate that. Anxiously she yanked at the pocketwatch that hung from around her neck, its chain biting into her skin.

And Niou said, "I'm sorry." His clear, lovely eyes held hers with unwavering intensity. There was something very vulnerable about the set of his mouth. "I'm sorry, Sayoko."

She clasped her shaking hands behind her back. Swallowed hard. "For?"

"For hurting you."

"You should be." She watched him from the distance dividing them. He'd made no move to come any nearer to her, and was in fact standing remarkably still, the way you would when you wanted not to alarm a wild animal. Perhaps even wanted that wild animal to feel safe enough to edge closer.

If he'd tried to approach her, she would have bolted. Tried to take her in his arms, stroke her hair, she would have bit him.

But he was just standing there. Just waiting for her, waiting for what she would do next.

_Whatcha gonna do now, sweetheart?_

"I would be justified," she said evenly, "in walking away right now." He dipped his head in acknowledgment. "And I would be justified," she went on, "in calling you every name I can think of." Another person might have felt justified in slapping him across the face, but Sayoko didn't believe in hitting people. Not one bit. Deeply she regretted having tried to slap Kirihara.

"You would be," he agreed. "You could hurt me, Sayoko." He said it casually, as if he didn't care one way or the other, as if it wouldn't be a big deal. But just that he'd _admitted _that… "If you wanted to."

She'd begun to suspect as much, but here he was confirming it: that there were words in her arsenal, accusations she could make, that could hurt him. Upset him. Make him feel a fraction of what she'd felt. The playing-field still wasn't level, but this meant she was at least finally _on _it, finally an actual player instead of merely a pawn. She could _hurt _him. It should have made her feel better, feel triumphant, feel vindicated.

However.

She laughed unhappily. "I don't want to hurt you, Niou-senpai. That's the difference between us, isn't it?"

Taking her time, she walked over to him, counting each step. _Seventeen steps, _she thought as she came to a stop before him. _Seventeen steps you didn't deserve, but that I chose to give to you anyway. Who's making the calls now? _He regarded her wordlessly, and she peered up at him, raised her eyebrows. Sat down on the bench.

After a moment he sat beside her. His body language expressed that he would have held her had she wanted him to, would have cradled her to his chest and tucked her head under his chin. But there was an implicit power in holding someone else, wasn't there? She wasn't inclined to give that power to him.

In fact, she'd rather like to take it away from him, just this once.

And he looked so very tired.

Putting one of her hands in his and placing her other one on his shoulder, she had him stretch out until he was lying down as he had been when she'd first found him, though now his head was on her lap. He complied quietly, his eyes closed and his throat bare to her, a long, artful column that she traced with her fingertips.

At length she said, "A few days ago Atobe-senpai asked me to tell him who I am. At first all I could think of was who I _wasn't_." She smiled ruefully. "Take a wild guess who that was. But I've been thinking about it ever since. About who I am. And… and too often I thought of a girl who loves a boy so much she'll let him break her heart whenever the mood strikes him."

She placed her hand on his cheek, ran the pad of her thumb under his eye. Tried to smudge away the shadow there as he'd done to her what felt like so, so long ago. _Make a wish._

"Niou-senpai… I won't be that girl anymore. Do you know why? Because I don't want to be."

She let her hand move to his hair, ran her fingers through it. Said, "But I can't help loving you, and I don't _want _to stop loving you. So you know what? I forgive you." She paused. "I want to be someone who forgives, and I think I already am that sort of person, at least when it comes to the people I love. I don't ever want to lose that part of me.

"So if you ever push me to the point where I really can't even justify or bear forgiving you…" She shook her head. "Niou-senpai. Don't ever push me to that point. Because it does exist, you know. The point where I won't forgive even you. And you came very close to it."

_To look at me like I'm nothing to you, nothing at all… _She shivered.

"I know." He lifted his head off her lap, sat up. Said, "Sayoko." Reaching out very slowly, so that she knew his intent and could shoot it down if she chose to, he took her face in his hands. Very slowly, as if at any moment he might just stop speaking entirely, he told her, "I'm letting you go. Sayoko?" His voice was soft, his face so stripped of emotion as to be raw like a wound. "I'm letting you go."

There was a world of meaning in that. _I'm letting you go._

His mouth quirked. "And you've already let me go as well. Haven't you."

She hadn't thought of it like that, hadn't phrased it to herself in that way, but—tentatively, she nodded. _Yes. Yes, I think I've finally let you go. Have I—is that what I've been trying to do all this time? How could it have happened without me even noticing? I've let you go.  
_

For her own sake and perhaps even for his, she'd let him go. And goddamn did it hurt to realize, even if it also made her feel freer than she had in a long time.

He kissed her then. Kissed her forehead and her cheeks, her nose and her temples and her eyelids. Kissed her everywhere but her lips, for which she was thankful. She'd meant their first and only kiss to be a goodbye, to be closure, but it had only stoked her feelings for him. They couldn't have that anymore.

When his mouth accidentally brushed the still-sensitive flesh of her ear, she took in a breath, and with an aching tenderness he kissed each earlobe, but even then he wasn't finished. Taking her hands in his, he kissed the insides of her wrists, kissed her palms and her fingertips and her knuckles, and, his lips still lingering over them, said, "Just once." His voice was hoarse.

"I wanted to be able to do that," he said, "just once."

She knew immediately how much that simple admission had cost him.

Reclaiming her trembling hands, she placed them on his face, leaned forward and laid a single kiss to his forehead. Drew back, looked him in the eyes.

And she called him, "Sweetheart." And she meant, _My darling, my dear, my love. My winter boy._

_Winter boy, this is it for us._

Faintly, he smiled.

~x~

Yagyuu wasn't the only one who did a double-take when Niou and Sayoko walked over to the match holding each other's hands loosely, though he was more discreet about it than a lot of people. "Hi, Yagyuu-senpai," Sayoko said to him as they walked over to where he sat on the lowest level of the stands, reading a mystery novel as he waited for the match to begin. "What are you reading?"

She let go of Niou's hand when Yagyuu offered her the book, flipping it over to read the back, and the two boys looked at each other. At Yagyuu's raised eyebrows, Niou responded with a lethargic shrug, placing his hands in his pockets. Both he and Sayoko seemed drained, weary, but… complacent. Less strung-up, less strung-out. At ease with each other.

And Yagyuu thought with some amusement and a small amount of warmth, _Niou Masaharu, you bastard. Keeping people on their toes by throwing in some positive behaviors and actions every once in a while._

Sayoko handed his book back to him. "Not to your taste?" he asked wryly.

"The butler did it," she told him. "I guarantee it."

"Groundbreaking," said Yagyuu and Niou together, the former with smooth cordiality and the former in a flat drawl. They were being equally sarcastic, but Niou didn't bother with pretense.

For some reason it made Sayoko beam at both of them. "I'm going to go say hi to An. I'll see you guys later." With another small smile just for Niou, she walked away.

The moment she was out of earshot, Yagyuu murmured, "But Niou-kun, to ruin your chaste reputation by being seen holding hands with a girl in public…" He shook his head regretfully. "The scandal. What will your mother think?"

"That she might finally have a shot at grandchildren," he deadpanned.

"You and Sayoko-chan would have very attractive offspring. Your mother would be thrilled."

Niou smirked. "Until the kid developed the Yukimura family's patented I-will-do-what-I-want-when-I-want-and-so-help-you-God-if-you-try-to-tell-me-otherwise look. By what age do you think they develop that? Two?"

"My question is when they learn to tailor it to fit specific social settings, whether that ability derives from nature or nurture. Really I'd like to see some multidisciplinary viewpoints on this phenomenon: Piaget's, Darwin's… Pavlov could run some interesting experiments."

"Though his subjects would be more inclined to behave like cats than dogs," Niou pointed out, his gaze on Sayoko's retreating back.

"And even then, more like tigers than anything," Yagyuu agreed. _What immortal hand or eye could frame thy fearful symmetry?_

He pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, considered Niou askance. A very shallow interpretation of Niou, based on how he conducted himself in public, was that he did not care about anyone or anything. If one were to examine him further, one might speculate that he actually cared very much how people thought of him, and for that reason _pretended_ not to care at all.

In actuality, the shallowest interpretation was partly true: Niou honestly did not give a damn what the general population thought of him. That was why he wasn't at all concerned that people's perception of him as entirely aloof and apathetic was compromised by this most recent public display of affection for Sayoko, or by the handful of other such displays he'd made in the past.

What mattered to Niou was what he thought of _himself_, what he'd built himself up to be in his mind. His conception and construction of self.

_That_, it seemed, he'd let go of. At least partly.

_When did you begin to grow up, Niou Masaharu?_

"Don't look now," said Niou lowly, "but you've got an admirer." Sure enough, Katsuragi, from where she stood with the rest of her team, was eyeing him with undisguised… well, he couldn't actually identify the look on her face, only knew that she wasn't bothering to hide it, which was uncharacteristic, especially since he hadn't even provoked her. There was some manner of a challenge in the tilt of her head, the position of her hips.

Niou sighed. "It kills me to see you kids mature so fast, it really does."

But Yagyuu wasn't listening to him. Instead he thought, smirking inwardly, _Careful, lava girl. You'll burn yourself up._

~x~

"Have you done any spying on them for me?" asked An lightly as Sayoko approached, nodding toward the stands opposite their own. Hyotei students kept arriving in droves, as if they were flocking to their Holy Land. "Any weaknesses I should know about?"

"When you play, wear something shiny. All Hyotei students are distracted by shiny things. The cleaning staff don't polish the floors or windows because otherwise we'd all just go crazy."

It was strange, to hear Sayoko refer to herself as a part of Hyotei. What was stranger was how… peaceful she seemed just then, as if some great source of anxiety had dissipated. An had seen her holding hands with Niou, and had about a million questions and concerns about _that_, but none she would get into now, not right before the match. Instead she noted, "You got your ears pierced a second time? I like it."

"Thanks," Sayoko smiled, fingering the earrings. "My favorite senpai took me to get it done. I want you to meet her soon, maybe after you've won. She actually reminds me a little of you."

"I like to think I'm one of a kind," An said, but really she was thinking uneasily, _I should tell her. Tell her that I think of her brother as my own, consider him my own. _How would Sayoko react?

How would _An _react if someone told her that about _her _brother?

Even if she would have mustered the courage to say something, she lost her chance. "The quarterfinal match between first seed Rikkai Dai High School and second seed Hyotei Academy will now commence," said an official over the loudspeakers. "Both teams, please line up on the court."

Sayoko stepped back. Said simply, "Get 'em."

An would. With a quick salute, she got to her feet and took her place in the lineup, Katsuragi to her left and Shimizu to her right. Across from her, in the Singles Two slot, stood a tall, willowy girl with green eyes and long red hair. She offered An a small smile that went unreturned. After they'd bowed and shaken hands, the girl said, "I'm Sohma Tsukushi. Is Yukimura Sayoko a friend of yours? I saw her talking to you."

"Uh huh," said An dismissively. Sohma must have seen Sayoko around school.

The petite girl shaking hands with Katsuragi had the bluest hair An had ever seen, and the girl An recognized as Nomura Sana was facing off with Shimizu. "Give Fuyumi my condolences," said Nomura placidly. Somehow her acne scars made her look tough, as if she'd gotten them in a fight instead.

Shimizu grinned. It was a decidedly unfriendly expression. "I will. Please accept mine as well. After all, now you'll never know whether or not you could have beaten her." She shrugged, the grin disappearing. "Though I'll go ahead and spoil it for you: you wouldn't have."

"Just as you couldn't beat her?" asked Nomura mildly. "Really, her injury must be something of a relief for you. You _finally _deserve your spot in Singles One now that you're finally the strongest player on the team." Her bland smile was incredibly off-putting. "I'm proud of you, Shimizu. I really am."

"Are you? Then you'll be over the fucking moon when I crush you to a pulp."

On which note Shimizu turned smartly on her heel and exited the court, An and all the other girls falling in line behind her. An didn't bother to conceal her broad grin, instead wore it like a badge. She followed Shimizu to the coach's bench where Fuyumi sat. "That went well, I take it," Fuyumi observed, her broken leg meticulously arranged before her. "Or else Tachibana's been affected by the heat."

"Probably both," Shimizu shrugged.

An let her mad grin fade as she asked seriously, "What sort of a person _is _Nomura Sana? She's so… I just don't even know."

Fuyumi and Shimizu shared a speaking look. "You'll notice," Fuyumi said, "that there are nearly two hundred girls on Hyotei's team, but Nomura didn't register a reserve player. At least _one _of those sub-regulars has to be good enough to merit the spot."

"Instead," Shimizu took over, "by not fielding a reserve, Nomura chooses to take a huge risk in order to make an even bigger statement. Wouldn't expect that sort of thing from her just by looking at her, huh?" She scratched at her nose. "If that tells you anything about Nomura Sana."

It did, although— "Now that Nakajima-senpai's playing doubles, we don't have a reserve either," An felt compelled to point out, though she wasn't sure who they would have made the new reserve. She thought of what that sub-regular from the boys' team had asked her the day before: _Aside from you and that Fujimaru Imari, do you even know who else will be starting next year?_

"Nakajima's so good we couldn't just let her remain a sub-regular," said Fuyumi calmly. She looked more awake than An had ever seen her before noon. "If we have someone that good, we make them the reserve, but otherwise…"

"We're Rikkai." Shimizu stretched her arms behind her back with a loud _crack_. "We don't need to count on a reserve."

~x~

"So, Tsukushi-chan?" Oshitari asked as the girls stepped off the court. "What do you think of your opponent?"

Ishii could tell Sohma was thrilled Oshitari had initiated a conversation with her, but disappointed she had nothing more to offer than, "She's sort of rude."

Atobe laughed quietly. "Rikkai's really had an impact on An-chan, hasn't it."

Sohma blinked. "An-chan? You know her, Atobe-senpai?"

"We have a rather illustrious history," he said with heavy irony.

Ishii wasn't terribly interested in Atobe's illustrious history. She said brightly, "I think I'm going to enjoy playing Katsuragi Mikuzu." The green-eyed girl had looked at her with such cool indifference… When Sishido opened his mouth, she held up a hand. "You're about to say 'Good for you' in a really snide voice. Don't even."

He threw his shoulders back and made to retort hotly, but before he could Ogawa Kohana, as she was tightening her shoelaces, said casually, "Maybe we should present a united front, you know?" She tipped her head toward Rikkai, her gelled, pixie-cut black hair not moving even slightly. "_They _certainly are."

Ogawa rarely made an idle remark, so most of the team was inclined to listen when she spoke. Furthermore, she was right: none of the Rikkai girls were bantering among themselves. Instead they stood near-silently as their Doubles Two players, Watanabe and Fujimaru, prepared to get on the court.

"They're…" Hayley struggled for a moment, chewing a piece of hair. "I don't know a word or phrase for it in Japanese," she admitted at last. "Wolves, maybe." Looking back at Rikkai, she said again, more softly, "Wolves. Yes.

"They're wolves."

* * *

Thank you for the reviews! Will reply shortly. Next chapter is actual tennis. I'm trying for a blend of real!tennis and magic!tennis... we'll see what happens.

Meta on Yukimura and Marui is posted to the tumblr for this story. Let me know if there's anything else specifically you guys would like to read about!

Disclaimer: I do not own _Prince of Tennis_, or A Great Big World's "Say Something" (lyrics at the top).


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